The Offbeats
by thoughtsinorange
Summary: Quinn Fabray can read minds. Kind of. She hates it. Mostly. Unless a certain Rachel Berry is involved.
1. Stand Out

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. Like at all. Surprise, surprise. Original characters though? All mine. Except, you know, when they're not.**

**Chapter 1: Stand Out**

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><p><em><span>Summer<span>_

"We're on in five minutes." The production assistant murmured to Quinn Fabray as he adjusted the microphone pinned to her shirt. "Are you ready?" Quinn nodded wordlessly, not even bothering to glance at the boy standing before her. His thoughts were a jumble of nervous chirps and sexual frustration. His hands were shaking and his breath pierced her personal space in steady pants.

She felt a twinge of pain just behind her eyes out of both irritation and the familiar thrum of power activating against her will. She didn't need to see her own reflection to know that her hazel eyes shifted to a golden brown.

Hiding the shudder in her spine, she rolled her shoulders and unconsciously fluffed her newly cut hair. The weight of what she was about to do hardly registered as she idly watched the two local newscasters bicker; a normal routine—according to Rod Remington's thoughts—that he apparently found to be quite _stimulating_.

Quinn wrinkled her nose in disgust.

God, she hated telepathy.

"I think I preferred the long hair, Q." Quinn's gaze snapped towards the source of the voice—a _real _voice—just a few feet away from her, a smirking brunette sitting in a thigh-length dress Quinn thought was just a few sizes too small, and a faux fur vest. "The 'Flower Child' cut makes it seem like you're trying too hard, you know?"

"And the toddler-sized dress seemed like _you're _the one trying too hard, _Santana_. The hair cut was your idea, wasn't it?" Quinn snapped, knowing that Santana was only trying to pick a fight.

"Whatever." Santana bit back, but her smirk did not dissipate. Instead, it widened to Cheshire Cat proportions when she focused on another production assistant in front of her; a leggy blonde with wide blue eyes, and milky smooth skin.

Quinn adjusted herself in her seat and sighed when her best friend's eyes glazed over; her overzealous thoughts were literally pouring out of her in waves. Thoughts so strong that Quinn just happened to hear them—no, _see _them—quite vividly.

Santana's smirk faltered as she noticed the change in Quinn's eye color, but only barely. "Are you liking the visuals, Q?"

"Not particularly, no." She pinched the bridge of her nose as her eyes faded to their natural color. "At least try to keep your thoughts clean when I'm around?"

"Consider it a perk of being a telepath."

"A _temporary _telepath, and far from a perk." Quinn quickly corrected, hoping that she was right in her assessment. Her Mimicry abilities only just manifested a few months ago, right before the _American Super-Natural Alliance_ initiated their Big Reveal to the US government. She only had a short amount of time to get in tune with her abilities, particularly in comparison to Santana, who manifested and mastered her icy abilities at an unusually young age.

Quinn knew it seemed like it would be a great ability to know what everyone was thinking, but after just a week of unfiltered and unadulterated thoughts circling through her conscious, she was more than ready to move on. Some thoughts were vile, some were cruel, and others puzzled Quinn just enough to want to dig for more. But she also believed that a person's private thoughts should remain just that—private. She held more than enough secrets in her lifetime to respect discretion. Though the lack of control of this particular ability was beginning to bleed the lines of her already murky morals.

And it was fluke how she got the ability, really.

A fluke by the name of the newest Lima Bean Coffee barista, Sam Evans—she remembered him stuttering out his name while taking her order. He was unregistered with the ASNA Ohio Division, that much she was certain. Otherwise, Quinn would have avoided that coffee shop like the plague.

All she wanted was a free drink; it wouldn't be the first time she used her looks to get what she wanted. After all, a flirtatious wink, a tentative lip bite, and a shy half smile had gotten her much more than a simple latte. But the boy with the awful blond dye job was surprisingly dense, so she had to step up from her usual effortless flirtation tactics and move on to a more physical approach.

She remembered stroking a delicate finger slowly over the length of his arm over the countertop, and she felt his body tense. Her face split into a smirk, until she felt it; the telltale sign that her powers had activated against her will.

Her hazel eyes—shifting to an unnatural golden hue—automatically snapped to the boy's green ones.

Sam was either a weak 'super' or hadn't fully developed his abilities yet, hence why she didn't sense him the moment she walked through the door.

Her breath hitched in reflex as she felt her body begin to subtly shift to accommodate the new ability. A slow squeeze began at the base of her neck, and worked its way up to the crown of her head. Her eyebrows pinched when she felt an unfamiliar pressure build behind her eyes.

Then came the headache.

It was at that moment that she fully realized just what she had acquired, and it took Santana and three other brave customers to keep her from launching at the boy over the cash register.

"I don't envy you." Santana's sentence faded as she finally shifted her attention fully to Quinn and observed her hair. "But the hair does looks good, especially because—you know—it was my idea and all."

"I'm not done with it yet." Quinn didn't need to look in Santana's direction to know that she shot her an incredulous glance.

"You're about two haircuts away from Ellen DeGeneres, Q. What else can you do?"

"I don't know. Ever since Finn, Nationals, and—and Beth—"

Quinn's normally rigid demeanor deflated. Slightly.

Slightly, as in microscopically.

But Quinn knew that Santana's keen eyes caught the gesture—and maybe also a silver glint on her nose, but Santana would later admit that she thought her newly added nose-ring was a trick of the light—so Santana decided to redirect by adding, "And getting thrown out of the 'super-natural' closet by ASNA."

Quinn's spine straightened back instantly. "ASNA." The abbreviation of the organization that turned the world on its axis came out closer to a growl than her normal speaking voice.

"Fucking ASNA." Apparently, Santana shared the same sentiment.

It was also the reason they were both here in the local news studio for an interview, representing the first of many openly super-natural students of William McKinley High School. Their summer vacation was just beginning when they were both contacted by their local ASNA representative and 'encouraged' to speak to the public about their abilities.

"_It will soften the public's views and ease the apprehension against those of us that have super natural abilities," _Were the representative's exact words. _"Tension has been high since the announcement of our existence. My job is to prepare you for any questions that might be asked in regards to it."_

"_Why us though?" _Quinn questioned as Santana picked disinterestedly at her fingernails. Even though Quinn already made up her mind to do the interview, she was still curious about the reason they were chosen to do it. _"There are probably a hundred other students you could have asked." _

"_The two of you are already quite well known throughout Lima; the captain and co-captain of a three-time Regional and National winning cheerleading squad, Regional show choir championship awards, outstanding academic records, community service projects__—__"_

_Quinn felt her chest swell with pride, but Santana interrupted before the representative could continue."Only because we were forced to by our crazy-ass coach."_

"_Regardless," _The representative continued, wincing at Santana's vulgarity_. "The both of you represent outstanding citizenship, and would increase goodwill within the community. We're also seeking to increase acceptability within your local school."_

Quinn remembered sharing silent dialogue with Santana before shrugging in agreement. ASNA has always been strategic when it came to public relations involving super-naturals.

The boost in their popularity—which was already quite high—would not hurt either.

"_I think the real question here is," Santana smirked. "Are we getting paid for this gig?"_

The girls settled into a comfortable silence, watching various studio staff members as they continued to set up equipment to ensure a smooth broadcast.

Quinn was the first to break the silence. "School. What do you think it's going to be like now that us 'supers'—" She purposefully used air-quotes, as it was the unofficial nickname given to those with super natural abilities. "—have come out of hiding?"

Santana sighed loudly, watching in amusement as her breath crystallized mid-air before dissipating into a fog. "At McKinley? That school isn't going to change one bit. The idiots there are going to be just as close-minded as they always were."

"So what's your plan for senior year?"

Santana laughed. "To be at the top of the pyramid, like always."

"You were _never _on top. I was."

"Details." Santana waved off the comment, unaffected. "I let you _think _you were."

Quinn did not respond. She wasn't going to argue against someone who was clearly delusional, friend or not. But she also knew that Santana's claims of being on top would come to fruition soon; Quinn had decided months ago that she was quitting the Cheerios.

She needed the change.

"We're on in 10, 9, 8—" The news producer's voice rang throughout the studio as the familiar jingle of KOHN Channel 8 News began to play. The girls could barely conceal their nervous glances at each other as Rod Remington and Andrea Carmichael introduced themselves to Lima, Ohio.

"Anyway," Quinn whispered as the lights began to dim. "You know what I was saying about my hair? Change is good, and I feel like I should do more." She fingered the ends of her hair. "I'm thinking…hot pink."

Santana's mouth flopped wordlessly as Quinn's face stretched into an award-winning grin the moment the camera swiveled in their direction.

* * *

><p><span>Fall<span>

Rachel Barbra Berry liked to think of herself as an extremely unique and motivated individual.

Her greatest goal in life was to stand out, after all.

Her future was meticulously planned and listed down to the very minute—no —the very second of every day. Her final year, her senior year of high school was the most important to her preparation of inevitable success.

Since she slotted her freshman year to build up her resume with extensive club participation, the plan consisted of joining the Glee club her sophomore year (exactly as noted in Chapter 2: Sophomore Year, Section 4-1 of Rachel Berry's 10-year Path to Stardom), and eventually she would lead the club to certain victory. Senior year was only meant to be her celebratory lap as she maintained her GPA, and applied to every performing arts school in New York City.

She needed to get out of Lima, Ohio. Staying was not an option.

And everything was working out almost exactly to plan.

Almost—Until the American Super-Natural Alliance came out and ruined everything.

The not-so-secretive organization had definitely topped her list of Ultimate Life Ruiners, though Will Schuster was still at a close second.

Of all the things in the world that could have happened; a Zombie Apocalypse, an Alien Invasion, The newly discovered existence of sexy gentlemanly Southern Vampires…

Even discovering the true existence of The Matrix for goodness sake!

Of all things, why did it have to be super-naturals?

Waking up one morning only to discover that 5 percent of the US population had manifested super powers within the past 10 years? Preposterous.

Ridiculous.

Absurd.

Depressing.

It was a fact; Rachel Berry was not part of the small, yet significant, super powered population.

She watched Quinn Fabray's unrealistically perfect features on the local news over the summer, along with Santana Lopez, as they came forward as one of the first of many McKinley High super-natural students.

And now, the first morning of her senior year in high school, the ultimate stepping stone to her path of Broadway glory, Rachel Barbra Berry realized that…

That she was no longer special.

At this point in time she was far from unique.

Her perfect pitch and near limitless range would be overshadowed by people who could _truly _defy gravity. That thought alone gave her the overwhelming urge to curl into a fetal position and cry for the rest of her senior year.

But Rachel was a Berry, and Berry's did not cry. For the most part. Except for that one time when her Daddy cried when he lost the takeout menu to his favorite Thai food restaurant. Or that other time when her Dad locked himself out of the car and cried for an hour before her Daddy could leave the office to bring him a spare key. Not to mention the numerous times that she had cried during an over emotional song (which is _perfectly_ acceptable, since it takes only an amazing actress to reach into the depths of her soul to output such emotions into a song).

Okay, so _sometimes_ Berry's did cry.

But Berry's most certainly did not curl into fetal positions of any sort. Berry's kept their head high, despite any obstacles thrown their way.

She would show everyone that her talent far exceeded any genetic mutation. She would show everyone that she didn't need to shoot lasers from her eyes in order to be special.

That was what Rachel Berry told herself as she determinedly walked through the front doors of McKinley high.


	2. Smells Like Teen Spirit

**Chapter 2: Smells Like Teen Spirit**

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><p>Quinn knew that Santana Lopez would only ever admit to learning three things in high school.<p>

One, at any mention of Lima Heights Adjacent, people tend to quickly get out of her way. It was a fact.

Two, words cut much deeper than razors. Though she wasn't opposed to a good physical altercation from time to time, her first weapon of choice would always be an insult.

Three, making one hell an entrance will absolutely _make_ your high school career.

'_And she learned well.' _Quinn observed as Santana threw open the double entrance doors of McKinley High from the row of lockers she was casually leaning against. The red and white of Santana's Cheerio's uniform and solid red captain's jacket made her status clear to the student body.

Almost immediately following her entrance was a chilling blast of cold air and rolling clouds of condensation fog; Quinn rolled her eyes at this. The smoke was literally pouring off of the self-proclaimed ice queen in waves as she walked through the hallways.

'Show off.' Quinn thought as Santana smirked at the students who stared in her direction, slack-jawed at her incredible show of power. Santana's eyes gradually shifted from her normal dark brown, to a shocking, icy blue. It was a sign that her abilities were fully activated, and also nature's way of sending out a clear warning to all who oppose her.

Quinn felt a little bit envious of her friend's display, but she knew that Santana's masterful control of her abilities only came with her years of experience. The jealously she felt was suddenly replaced with pride. Even at the risk of prejudice she refused to do nothing but show the world exactly who she was. Quinn wished she could say the same about one of Santana's more _obvious _traits, but that was an argument for another time.

When Santana finally made it to Quinn's position in the hallway, she couldn't resist the smirk that crossed her features. "Tone it down, would you? "

The new cheerleading captain spun on her heels with a mocking glare at Quinn, threw out a mental, _'Quiet, Q. I don't have to tone down shit,' _and continued on her way. All without breaking her stride.

Quinn's smirk widened to a grin. "I'm sorry Satan, I didn't quite hear you."

Santana's only response was a middle finger in the air.

Quinn shook her head in amusement and pushed herself off of the lockers.

Though Quinn practically invented the art of Grand Entrances—one of the last things Santana would ever openly admit to —she decided to stay below the radar for the time being. She knew that with her drastic change in style, and almost the entire school knowing that she was a 'super' due to her summer stint on the local news, it wouldn't last for long.

Her hair, hot pink as ever, stuck out at odd angles in controlled disarray. Her black shirt hung loosely around her slight frame, gray jeans—decorated in various rips and tears—was snug around her hips, and black boots and various forms of jewelry clicked and jingled with every step she took. Though she might have secretly missed the gentle swish of her baby doll dresses, she absolutely needed to make a statement. She no longer wanted to be the same Quinn. The lying, cheating, impregnated Quinn wore dresses. She needed to separate herself from that girl.

'_I'm late! So late!' _The words of someone else's thoughts interrupted her own. She paused as her eyes shifted briefly to a golden hue, mentally preparing herself for an onslaught. The person's thoughts were indistinct, simply appearing in her mind without a voice to match. She learned that her telepathy abilities only worked in that way if she couldn't see the person who was projecting their thoughts. She figured that her mind needed to make a visual connection in order to give a voice to the thoughts that she picked up. Quinn ignored the unknown person and turned the corner into another hallway, heading towards her homeroom class. She was also running the risk of being late as well.

'_If I hadn't of spent that extra fifteen minutes on the elliptical this morning…' _the voice continued_. 'It didn't help that I got so little sleep last night. Also, note to self: No more pep talks in the morning. Though inspirational in nature, the risk of tardiness and tarnishing my perfect attendance record is too great.'_

Quinn rolled her eyes. There was only one person she knew of that would think in paragraphs.

Standing barely twenty feet away, alone in the hallway, was none other than Rachel Berry. The thoughts entering Quinn's head had suddenly formed a voice.

'…_and I have so many things to do today.' _Rachel was currently rummaging through her locker, stacking various folders—in alphabetical order, no doubt—while grabbing a few empty ones for her new classes.

Quinn was torn between pretending she never saw the girl and greeting her simply out of politeness. She briefly wondered if Rachel was housing any super-natural abilities, but she didn't recall seeing her on the ASNA registration list. It was mandatory that 'super' students registered before attending school. Quinn was also bit eager to see the Glee club's reaction to her new look and she figured there was no better place to start than with one Rachel Berry. So she steeled her shoulders, brought her hands to hips and walked towards the girl with a nonchalant smirk in place.

The warning bell suddenly rang through the halls.

'_Shit!'_ Quinn's head pounded at the strength of Rachel's thought. And she was also incredibly surprised by the her use of profanity. Rachel slammed her locker shut and ended up running face first into Quinn's chest.

Quinn could have moved out the way. She really could have. But she figured that it would be a lot more interesting to watch the shorter girl flail to catch her balance then apologize profusely before noticing the physical change Quinn made since the summer.

To her displeasure, Rachel did none of these things. In fact, Rachel didn't seem to recognize her at all.

She watched as the shorter girl looked up at her with wide eyes, stepped around her, and threw a barely audible "sorry" over her shoulder before continuing on her way. Quinn frowned. This wouldn't do. Against better judgment, Quinn called after her.

"Berry!"

Rachel spun on her heels, obviously too distracted by her tardiness to recognize the voice. "Though I am pleased that my talent has increased my popularity so much that a new student recognizes me by name, I _am _running late and I _do _have a perfect attendance record to maintain. So if you would excuse me—"

Quinn scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself, RuPaul."

"I _beg _your _pardon_? _RuPaul?_" Rachel blinked then moved closer. A look of recognition crossed her features

'_Hazel…'_

"Quinn?"

The girl in question cocked her eyebrows at Rachel's single thought, but quickly dismissed it.

"You look…_different_."

Quinn strained to listen for any underlying thoughts from Rachel, but she only heard the strange echo that occurred when someone said the exact same thing that they were thinking out loud. It took several awkward seconds for Quinn to realize that she had been squinting at the girl in concentration, so she cleared her throat and spoke. "You're going to be late."

Rachel nodded, "So will you."

"It's senior year. We pretty much have the right."

"Yes, well, not all of us have the same views. I don't mean to be abrupt, but if you would please excuse me, I must get to my first class. Enjoy the rest of your day, Quinn. See you in Glee?"

And then Rachel was gone.

Quinn blinked as the final bell rung.

'_Well…that was anticlimactic.'_

It wasn't like she was disappointed by the lack of reaction or anything.

* * *

><p>After the brief—albeit a bit strange—conversation with the newly transformed Quinn Fabray, Rachel made it on-time to her homeroom with just three seconds to spare. She was pleasantly surprised to see the curly haired glee club director as her homeroom teacher.<p>

"Welcome back, Rachel." He smiled warmly at her. She returned the gesture. Life Ruiner or not, he was still a very kind man, with the exception of the times when he wasn't.

"Good morning seniors!" Mr. Schuester began with a clap as soon as she settled into her seat. "Welcome to the last first day of your high school years!" The statement was followed by numerous cheers and hoots. Rachel couldn't contain the wide smile on her face.

"_But _as you know, several events have happened within the past 6 months. Several _monumental _events."

The class quieted after that statement, fully aware of ASNA and the recent coming-out of American super-naturals. Students glanced at each other suspiciously, unsure of just who was a part of the powered-up population.

"Because of these events, many changes had to be made to the rules and regulations of McKinley High. One of the main changes was the separation of homerooms and physical education courses. As you can see, according to your class schedules, the homeroom you are in—Homeroom dash 'N' —is with normal students. "

Everyone in the classroom seemed to sigh in relief. Rachel was the only one that seemed to frown.

He grabbed the stack of booklets sitting on the desk behind him and began to pass them around. "These are the new student handbooks. Read them _carefully_."

Rachel stared at the booklet in front of her. _'McKinley High School, Student Handbook: Leading Ohio in the integration of super-natural students.' _She rolled her eyes and quickly flipped open to the Rules, Regulations and Super-Natural Guidelinessection. She tuned out Mr. Schuester's lecturing and decided to skim over a few of the bullet points.

'_Super -natural students must not use their abilities unless in a controlled environment on campus._

_No forms of flight should be used in the hallways. Transportation to and from school is acceptable._

_Any form of manipulation, including psychic abilities and telekinesis, will NOT be used on any of the faculty and/or staff members. Any use of such abilities will result in immediate expulsion._

_Any harm to another student using super-natural abilities will result in immediate expulsion.'_

"Mr. Schuester!" Rachel's hand shot up immediately after the last bullet was read. She didn't trust these rules at all. The very same rules (sans the 'super-natural' part, of course) were ignored by faculty on a daily basis. Never, in all three years at this school, had she ever seen a student expelled for bullying a person such as herself.

"I'll answer questions at the end of class, Rachel."

Rachel glared. She knew perfectly well that was code for, _"I really don't care what you have to say."_

"Now," Mr. Schuester clapped his hands once more. "Out of the three thousand students at McKinley, only a little less than one hundred and fifty students actually have super natural abilities. If you're curious, you are absolutely free to look up the names and abilities of those students on the American Super Natural Alliance's registration website. It _is _public information, but some students have chosen to opt out of disclosing their details."

Rachel looked down at her hands. She had no desire to compare herself to people who forced her into a mediocrity-filled depression.

"Remember, just because a few of your peers are a bit different now, doesn't mean that they're not human. They're the same people you've walked the halls with everyday for the past few years."

Rachel suddenly felt her throat tighten.

Her peers weren't just different, they were _special_. Special in every way that she was lacking.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period.

"Oh, Rachel!"

The girl turned to her teacher in surprise. She actually didn't expect him to revisit the question she wanted to ask. "Yes, Mr. Schue?"

"Before you leave, I just wanted to let you know that there's a kickoff glee meeting in the choir room during your lunch hour. I have some great news for the group!"

Rachel couldn't help the sigh as she nodded. "Of course. I'll be sure to let the others know as I see them throughout the day."

"Perfect! See you then."

She gathered her things and left as quickly as possible from the suddenly stifling class room.

* * *

><p>The first half of the day passed by in a blur.<p>

Between the normal hectic activities that usually occurred on the first day of classes, and the rush of excitement from students suddenly coming forward about their previously hidden abilities, the lunch hour seemed to come in the blink of an eye.

And as usual, Rachel was the first one to enter the choir room, alone. She sat down in the very first row of chairs, and began to gently and methodically unpack her vegan lunch onto her lap.

But she couldn't bring herself to eat it, so she packed it all away again.

She felt butterflies in the pit of her stomach and she was not sure why. Was it fear? Was it the anxiety that her fellow glee clubbers have also manifested and successfully hid their powers over the years? What if she was the only one out of_ all_ them that had been left behind? The only exceptions were Finn and Kurt of course. She knew for a fact that they weren't 'supers', due to the amount of time spent with them over the summer before she went on her annual trip to the Berry's Lakeside cabin in Michigan.

She honestly didn't really know the status of her other teammates, besides Santana and Quinn—both of whom were on the local news. After the unforeseeable kissat Nationals last year, she was threatened by most of the members of New Directions to not contact them throughout their summer vacation or else multiple consequences would occur.

She'd rather not repeat the threats. Many of them were quite vulgar.

So she stayed away. It was about time to start separating herself from her high school attachments anyway. She wouldn't be in Lima for much longer, she hoped. At least, she _did_ hope until ASNA came about and destroyed her dreams. But that just meant she had to work that much harder so stand out. Good things came to those who worked hard enough for it, right?

Noah "Puck" Puckerman chose that exact moment to casually stroll into the choir room. His mohawk was freshly cut, his muscles flexed under a form fitting v-neck, and his dark jeans hung a little bit to low on his waist for Rachel's taste, but none of these qualities bothered her. She actually found his bad boy persona to be more attractive then she'd like to admit.

No, it was the fact that Puck stopped directly in front of her, _waved over a chair from the other side of the room_, twisted it around, and threw his legs on either side of it.

He waggled his eyebrows. "S'up Jew-Berry?"

Rachel pursed her lips together and gave a slight nod in greeting. "Noah. Your vocabulary is still as atrocious as ever, I see."

The mohawked boy shrugged. He obviously didn't care. "Long time no talk, Berry. I thought us Jews were supposed to stick together."

"Yes, well, fellow 'Jews' do not threaten to slaughter animals of the swine variety in front of someone if they attempted to contact you in any form during the summer holiday."

"Shit. Forgot about that. I thought you knew I was joking?"

"Well, I wasn't joking, Munchkin." Santana's voice rang throughout the choir room. "And the threat still stands. If you so much as a begin to dial my number on that bejeweled piece of crap, I will _ends_ you. You hear me?"

Rachel huffed.

"Don't listen to her, Berry." Quinn had entered with Santana. "She's like a twisted fairy. Instead of hand-claps-"

"She needs cutting words and death glares to survive." Puck finished with a smirk. "S'up baby mama?

Quinn greeted him with a nod. "Puckerman."

"Loving the 'punk' look. The nose ring is a major turn on, and if you happen to add a tongue ring to the mix—"

"Puckerman, cut it out." Quinn's voice grew steely. He threw up his hands in surrender, smirk still in place.

Santana scowled at the three of them and stormed her way over to a seat in the very top row. Rachel couldn't help but notice a sharp drop in temperature in the room, but if anyone else noticed, they didn't seem to want to comment on it.

"Anyways, let's see it." Puck turned his attention back to Rachel.

"See _what _Noah."

"I showed you mine, now show me yours."

"_I beg your pardon_-"

"Your powers, Berry. Chill out. I'm telekinetic, as you can see." Her motioned down at the chair he was sitting on. "But now that you mention it..."

"You're vile. But to answer you're earlier question, I have never, nor have I recently manifested super abilities. According to the results of my ManPot test, I don't even have the potential to do it. "

Puck scratched the back of his head. "The Man what test?"

Rachel withheld a sigh, but before she could open her mouth to respond, another high-pitched voice answered for her.

"Manifestation Potential for Super-Natural Abilities, ManPot for short. It's a blood test performed in order to see if you have the potential to become a super."

Rachel's head snapped to the entrance of the room. "Kurt!"

The flamboyant boy did a mock bow before walking further into the room, followed by Mercedes, Tina, and Mike.

"No worries, Rachel. I've also tested negative on my ManPot. I'm still as normal as a Broadway bound, teenage gay can be!"

Rachel smiled lightly. "Mercedes, Tina, and Mike? What about you guys?"

Mercedes answered, "I wasn't tested, and I really don't care. If it happens, whatever. If it doesn't, then so be it."

"You should at least know if it could happen, Mercedes." Tina's quiet voice intervened. "I've read that some powers can manifest in dangerous ways if you're not prepared for it. I was read positive for the test, but I was told that it was most likely not going to happen. But you never know, right?"

"Mike? What about yours, man?" Puck nodded to the dancer.

"I uh—" Mike looked a bit shy as he walked towards where the rest of his friends were already seated in the second row. "I manifested 8 months ago. I'm uh—I'm pretty fast."

By the time Mike finished his sentence Finn finally entered the room, pushing Artie ahead of him and Lauren Zizes behind him. "I always wondered how you always beat me in warm up laps, dude."

Puck rolled his eyes. "Man, _everyone_ beats you in warm up laps. _Rachel _could beat you in laps. You run like an ogre."

Rachel frowned. Why did everyone assume that just because she was a singer, meant that she wasn't physically active? She had spent many rigorous hours a week on her workout regime in preparation for future stardom.

Finn shrugged off the insult with a smile and took a seat next to Rachel.

"Hey, Rach."

"Hey, yourself."

Santana faked a gag from somewhere behind them. "I hope Finnept was worth our loss at Nationals, Hobbit.

"National's is still a sensitive topic, I see. But to answer you, Santana: Yes, It was worth it." Rachel nodded. "I've gained a very good friend."

"Friend?" Quinn's soft voice added. "Friends don't suck each other's face off in front of thousands of people."

Rachel turned to face Quinn, her new look was still something she hasn't gotten used to, despite seeing her stalk throughout the hallways during the day. "Well, we weren't just friends…at first. But we've come to somewhat of an," She looked towards Finn for approval and he answered with a nod of his head, "understanding over the summer."

"Rachel and I aren't together." Finn piped in.

Everyone seemed to be surprised by the information with the exception of Kurt. Being step-brother to Finn had its advantages.

Rachel looked to see Quinn's reaction. Their history together, along with Finn, had always been a shaky one. Her face was surprisingly (or not so surprisingly) void of emotion, but her eyes were squinted in what seemed like concentration as she looked back and forth between the two exes. She recognized it as the same look that she had received earlier this morning.

"Quinn, why do you keep doing that?" Rachel wanted to know.

The girl in question blinked. "Doing what?"

"Sorry I'm late guys!" Mr. Schuester had finally decided to make his appearance

Rachel hardly bit back a growl from the back of her throat at the man that had interrupted her mid-conversation. She turned to face the front of the room. Her dislike for the man had been increasing with every interaction with him throughout the day.

'_One day, I will burn every single one of his sweater vests in revenge for his constant tardiness, over-zealous claps of excitement and generally every effort he has ever made in trying to ruin my life.'_

Rachel heard a feminine snort from somewhere behind her. She paid it no mind.

"Welcome to the first official New Directions meeting of the year!" He stated with a clap. The Glee club cheered. Rachel rolled her eyes.

"We're running low on time, so I have to get through this quickly."

'_Only because you were at least twenty minutes late, Schue.' _Rachel internally ranted.

Another, lighter, snort sounded. This time, it seemed that the person was trying to hide it.

"I have some fantastic news! You guys know that finding funding for New Directions has always been one of our biggest obstacles—"

"What, the Cheerio's finally felt sorry enough for us to give up their tanning privileges?" Kurt sniped while side-eyeing Santana. Mercedes laughed.

"Back off, Tinkerbell. And you do _not _want to start with me today, Aretha."

"Guys, guys! As _generous_ as that might've been, that's not the case. I was approached by a member of ASNA a few weeks ago. He told me that he was a strong supporter of the arts in schools, and was impressed by our drive at Nationals last year. As of today, he has made a commitment to fund us for this year!"

As New Directions cheered and whistled, Rachel narrowed her eyes at the news. She suspected something, but wasn't quite sure. A man didn't just give away money without any strings attached. The man being a part of the American Super-Natural Alliance only strengthened her suspicions.

"Mr. Schue!" Her hand shot up the air.

He gave a small sigh. "Yes, Rachel."

"What 's the catch?"

Mr. Schue looked confused by the question.

"I'm asking what he wants in return for throwing his money at us." She reiterated slowly.

"Rach, maybe you should-" Finn started, but was interrupted by Artie.

"No, Finn. Rachel has a point. People don't just hand out money. What's the price, Mr. Schue?"

There was a murmur of agreement, as Schuester scratched his forehead lightly. "Alright." The club quieted down. "Mr. Daniel Stevens, the name of the person who granted us the funding, he's—well, uh…he's—"

"Just say it Mr. Schue. I think I already know what you're going to say." Rachel voiced lowly.

The curly haired man sighed and ran his hand down his face. "He's interested in _super-natural_ student's involvement in the arts."

Tina looked towards the rest of group, almost sensing the ripple of discomfort that settled in the room. Most of it was coming from the diva sitting front and center. "That's not a big deal, right guys? Sure, the guy is only interested in supers, but we all benefit! No more bake sales,"

"Or carwashes," Mike piped in.

"Or crappy salt-water taffy." Lauren spoke up for the first time since entering the choir room.

"Tina is right guys. Looking at things in a positive light—"

"Mr. Stevens wants you to encourage more prominent roles for the super-naturals in the group. Am I wrong, Mr. Schue?" Rachel interrupted what was sure to be another one of his life lesson lectures.

The teacher went silent. It was an unspoken affirmative.

"So that's it, then? Shove all the normal people in the back while the supers shine?"

"Rachel, that's not-"

"Calm your tits, leprechaun." Santana interrupted. "All it means is that you don't get nearly as many solos. At least then you can use the extra time keep watch over your treasure at the end of the rainbow."

"Santana! That was completely inappropriate—" Mr. Schuester started.

"It's not the fact that I won't get any more solos, Santana, it's the fact that Mr. Schue is being forced to play favorites rather than choose leads based on their raw talent!"

"Say's the girl who's been his number one since day one." Mercedes added.

"If you spent less time bitching and more time singing, you might've been able to actually lead a song or two." Puck surprisingly spoke up in Rachel's defense.

"Oh screw you, Puck!"

Quinn let out a low sound of aggravation. "That was pretty low, Puckerman."

"Alright, enough!" Mr. Schuester silenced the argument before it could get too out of hand.

Rachel shook her head and stood to begin to gather her things.

"Rachel, where are you going?" She didn't answer immediately. She just continued to pile things into her bag while ignoring the silent stares of her teammates.

"I'm leaving."

"This meeting isn't finished yet."

"I don't care." She tossed over her shoulder. And then she was gone.

* * *

><p>"Rach?"<p>

Rachel looked up at the sound of her name, and was nearly startled off of the bench by the looming figure of her ex-boyfriend. '_He's a surprisingly light-footed individual for being so large_,' she thought amusedly. Gathering back up her nerves she smiled softly at the boy.

"Hello, Finn. I'm sure you've been having an enjoyable first day of classes so far. I didn't really get to ask you earlier."

He returned the smile and sat next to her, making the bench seem much smaller than it was. "Yeah, but," the boy's dopey grin faded into a frown. "It doesn't seem like you're having such a good day. You left so suddenly from glee and everyone thinks you're really mad. Why were you crying?"

Rachel inhaled sharply and tried to discreetly wipe her cheeks from any leftover moisture she might've missed. She was certain her tears had long dried.

"How did you know that I was crying?"

Finn shrugged. "Your eyes are all red, and every time you cry, you get this far away look in your eyes. Almost like you're not here, you know?"

Rachel nodded her head, partially impressed that Finn paid more attention to her than she realized, and partially disappointed that her acting skills were becoming subpar. She shifted her gaze to the light blue flats that adorned her feet.

"I'm not mad, you know." She took a deep breath, "I'm actually quite sad."

Finn looked down at his feet. Rachel was certain that he wasn't quite sure what to say.

"Finn?" She waited until his gaze shifted to her own before she spoke again. "Do you ever—do you ever feel like you're getting left behind?"

Finn furrowed his eyebrows in concentration, not quite sure what the girl was asking. "What do you mean?"

"Darwin!" She blurted before she could stop herself, and continued before Finn's adorable look of concentration morphed into his signature confused look of constipation. "Evolution! Survival of the fittest…"

She sighed.

"Finn, we're _normal_. Humanity is clearly advancing, and we're_ stuck, powerless_, while everyone else is moving forward."

"I don't think we're stuck, Rach. Don't forget that there's still a lot more us normal people than supers-"

"But we are!" Rachel rapidly stood and began to pace the empty hallway. "Santana, Noah, Mike, Quinn—not to mention most, if not all, of my former tormentors have developed these abilities. Why, after everything that they put me through…why do _they _get to move ahead and leave me—us behind? It should have been the other way around. This has to be a cosmic joke."

Her voice rose in volume with every word. "I thought I was meant to be great, Finn! I thought I was meant to be different. There has to be a reason why I've had to put up with the torment of my peers; why I've had to deal with every slushie thrown my way; why I've had to brush off the insults from the people whom I call my closest friends." Finn looked down guiltily at that statement. "I just knew I was going to outshine them one day! But now," Rachel paused in her pacing and stared at the linoleum floor beneath her feet. "I-I'm not sure where to go from here." She admitted, before tears welled up into her eyes once more as she collapsed back onto the bench.

"Rachel. D-Don't cry. C'mon…don't." He hesitated before he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her into a friendly hug. "You go exactly wherever you're destined to go." He murmured into her hair. "You're super talented, Rachel. You have the best voice I've ever heard, and you're beautiful, and _so _smart. If anyone is special enough to make it out of this Podunk town, it's going to be you. I swear."

When her tears finally slowed after a few minutes of quiet sobs, Rachel broke apart from the large boy and finally spoke. "Finn," She took a deep breath. "Thank you. Really. I—I wish things could have worked out better between us but—"

"Rachel," he interrupted, a goofy grin forming on his face. "I'm glad we're friends too."

She smiled lightly and looked down at her twiddling thumbs. "So...you think I'm special? Even without, you know—"

"Super powers." Finn scoffed jokingly. "Who needs them when you've got a voice like yours?"

Rachel giggled and lightly bumped her shoulder against his own—or at least she tried to bump his shoulder. She ended up awkwardly nudging his upper arm instead.

A comfortable silence fell between the two exes before someone a few feet away from them, cleared their throat.

"Rachel." Artie rolled towards her. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but a student aide just came to the choir room looking for you. She left a note." He shifted his glasses and handed Rachel a yellow slip of paper that was resting on his lap. "Principle Figgins wants you to go to his office immediately."

"Did the aide mention why?" Rachel asked.

Artie shook his head, "Only that it was urgent." And with that, the boy spun around and wheeled his way back in the direction of the choir room.

Finn and Rachel shot each other worried glances.

* * *

><p>"Ah! Rachel," Principle Figgins motioned for her to come further into the room, but she wasn't paying attention. Her eyes were glued to the rather intimidating looking woman in a business suit standing in the corner of the office.<p>

"Rachel Berry, this is Sandra Meade, a representative from the United States Department of Justice."

Rachel's eyes finally snapped towards the principle, his words finally registering with her.

"Department of Justice? Did I do something wrong? Is it because—no it can't be—I downloaded that _one _song illegally out of desperation, not convenience! Please understand that the digitized version of an extremely rare classic of great quality is always difficult to find—"

"Ms. Berry," The woman finally spoke. Her voice was low, but deep with authority. "As that may be an entirely different topic to examine with more scrutiny at a later time, we have more important things to discuss." She leveled a gaze at the girl. The only sign that she was amused by the girl's outburst was the almost non-existent quirk of her lips.

"Of course." Rachel shook her head and looked Sandra Meade directly in the eye. "I apologize for my assumption of the worst. It was undoubtedly the result of a guilty conscience.

"Indeed." The woman nodded. She didn't fail to notice that every word Rachel spoke was perfectly enunciated, and the fact that she most certainly did not shy away from eye contact was a pleasant surprise. These were good signs for a prospective candidate.

"Now, if you would excuse us, Principle Figgins, there is classified information that is going to be exchanged and Rachel and I will need to speak alone."

The balding man nodded his head furiously and quickly dismissed himself from the room as Rachel furrowed her eyebrows. There had to be rules against leaving a student alone with an unfamiliar stranger, after all.

"Ms. Berry, allow me to introduce myself again, _properly_. My name is Dr. Sandra L. Meade, representative of the US Department of Justice: National Security Division," She pointed to the badge clipped onto her blazer, "and the head of a classified trial program."

Rachel nodded her head, silently mulling over the woman's credentials. "What exactly does the Department of Justice want with me?"

"Excellent question."

Rachel raised an impressive eyebrow. It could never rival Quinn's signature arch but the disbelief behind it was still pretty clear. She had spent hours in the bathroom mirror attempting to perfect it, after all.

Dr. Meade took this as a sign to continue. "Rachel Berry, due to your outstanding academic records, extracurricular activities and," The woman paused, "according to medical records, you've tested negative for the Manifestation Potential of Super Natural Abilities, you've been nominated as a candidate for _The Program._"

Rachel, mid-shift in attempt to straighten out the non-existent wrinkles on her skirt, froze. It was one thing knowing that she had zero potential to become a super, but being told by an authority? Another feeling entirely. It hurt a little_ too_ much for her liking.

But then the rest of the woman's words finally registered into her mind with a mental click. "I've been nominated? By whom? I mean—candidate? _The Program_?" It was very rare that Rachel ever jumbled her words, but she felt it was theatrically important at this point in time. Particularly with the weight of the information she just received.

"Ms. Berry," Dr. Meade moved to seat herself in the chair directly across from Rachel. She leaned forward and lowered her voice to the point that Rachel had to strain her ears just to catch her words. "I believe that I have an offer that I highly doubt you would refuse."


	3. JackHammer

**Chapter 3: Jack-Hammer**

* * *

><p>Quinn had a headache.<p>

It wasn't just a normal headache. It was only one-thirty in the afternoon and with every sound _and thought _that was within earshot of Quinn came the horrible, _horrible _feeling of getting hit in the head repeatedly with a jack-hammer. She couldn't take it anymore. She had learned that so many thoughts at one time were quickly becoming too much for the mediocre psychic abilities she acquired. The constant thrums of power surrounding her were making her mimicry abilities go haywire and kept her eyes shining its golden hue. Her defenses were lowering by the second.

Her headache was making her miserable.

Quinn was currently sitting in the bleachers of the school's gymnasium, next to a highly irritated, Santana. The hundred or so bodies packed in such a small space made it sweltering hot. With every aggravated shift of her legs, Santana's elbow brushed harshly against Quinn's.

And she had a _fucking terrible_ headache.

"Will you_ stop _moving? I'm this close—_this _close—to taking your powers and freezing you to the chair _myself._" Quinn hissed. Both of them knew it was an empty threat for more than one reason.

"Not if I freeze your mouth shut first, Joan Jett." Santana barked back.

She watched as Quinn let out a groan and leaned over in her seat to rest her head delicately onto the palms of her hands. Everything was so loud.

"My head. It's killing me, S." Quinn tried not to sound pitiful, she really did, but her muffled moans and low whimpers completely gave her away.

They had been in the gymnasium for an hour; the longest hour of both of the girl's lives.

For supers, the time slot after lunch every Monday, Wednesday and Friday was dedicated to Super-Natural Physiology and Training in the gym, run by a super-natural specialist, Mr. Jean Jenson, and supervised by a few other faculty members. Today being the first day of classes, was an introduction of sorts, which meant that _every single super_ in the room had to state their name, abilities, and any other _fun_ facts about themselves to , _"develop a sense of togetherness."_ as quoted by their anal retentive campus counselor—and supervising faculty member—Emma Pillsbury.

They were only up to student number thirty-three.

With a sigh and quick glance around the gymnasium to make sure that none of the faculty members were looking in her direction, Santana began to concentrate her power into her right hand. When the familiar tingle of coolness reached the tips of her fingers, she placed the digits against the back of Quinn's neck.

Quinn froze. Not literally, but the touch was unexpected. She felt herself begin to relax as the cool fingers began to message the tense muscles at the base of her neck. It felt absolutely amazing and it _did _cause her headache to ease up slightly; an effect that nearly had the girl crying in relief.

"This 'telepathy' stuff seems like a pain in the ass." Santana murmured.

Quinn groaned and rubbed her temples as Santana continued her ministrations. "You have no idea."

This has been the longest amount of time she ever held on to an ability. Figures it would be the one that she hated the most. Despite the powerful potential of Mimicry, she was almost cripplingly limited by it. She couldn't absorb another power while a current ability was activated, even though her body constantly tried to do so—hence the annoying tingling sensation while her defenses were down. So she was pretty much stuck with mind reading until it decided to go away. But as much as she hated having a psychic ability for all it was worth, she had to admit, it was rather…_convenient_.

Knowing the inner workings of her peers—even her instructors—proved to make her day more interesting than normal.

Her thoughts were interrupted by someone clearing their throat in the center of the gym.

Quinn glanced up from the palm of her hand to see who had the floor and saw red when she recognized the mop of fake blond hair. She began to stand up until the fingers massaging the back of her neck tightened threateningly.

'_Don't do anything stupid.'_ Santana's thought filtered into her head. She relaxed instantly, but her glare did not waiver.

'_What the hell is he doing here?'_

"Hi." The boy waved awkwardly to the students in the bleachers, "I'm Sam Evans. Just moved to uh, Lima over the summer. My parents move around a lot, so…" He scuffed his foot awkwardly. "Um, I'm a senior _and _single, so ladies? Feel free to call me." He followed with wink and smirk.

"Dude, what's wrong with his lips?" Santana whispered.

Quinn didn't seem to hear her. Instead, she spoke lowly. "I'm going to end him."

"I didn't notice before, but I think he could fit a basketball in his mouth." Santana's head tilted in astonishment. She was in her own world.

"I'm going to make his life a living hell." Quinn hissed between her teeth.

'_I mean, seriously, his lips look like a vagina.'_

As if hearing her for the first time, Quinn turned slowly to stare at her best friend. Santana fought valiantly at the blush that was threatening to darken her cheeks. She had forgotten that her thoughts weren't quite safe anymore, so she covered up her embarrassment with a scoff.

"Whatever, Q. Everyone was thinking it."

"No," Quinn answered slowly. "I'm pretty sure that they weren't." She tried not to laugh as Santana rolled her eyes and dismissed her with a wave of her hand. They both turned their attention back to the boy.

"Move it along, Evans." Mr. Jenson urged.

Sam nodded. "Right so—my abilities. I've been a telepath since I was 15. Not as scary as it sounds. I'm not out to get your big bad secrets or anything. My power isn't even that great. I can only hear strong thoughts; stuff you're probably going to say out loud anyway so…yeah. That's it"

Quinn rolled her eyes. It has taken her a few months to learn what he had in three years. _'But still, he's bound to have more control over it than I do. Maybe I can ask for a few pointers after I verbally pound him into the ground for giving it to me in the first place.'_

Her eyes glazed over at the ways she could torture him as a few other students she didn't care about—and maybe a few that she did—introduced themselves.

Puck's introduction was as crass as ever.

"I'm Puckerman, but call me Puck. I used to think the ladies raised their skirts because they liked the 'hawk and my guns," He flexed his arms obnoxiously. "But it turns out I've been telekinetic for four years." He shrugged with a smirk. "Whoops."

Thoughts from nearby cheerleaders filtered into Quinn's head. _'I knew it! But he's still really hot. I'd totally let him do it again.'_

Santana's introduction was threatening.

"Santana Lopez. Ice Manipulation. I manifested 10 years ago." She smirked at the loud gasps in the bleachers and raised her head triumphantly as even Mr. Jenson casted a professionally curious look in her direction. Developing powers at that young of an age was practically unheard of.

"Some kid pissed me off at my 8th birthday party. Next thing I know he's on the floor bleeding." She paused for dramatic effect as she encased her entire right arm in ice. More gasps sounded from the crowd.

Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Turns out I accidently covered my arm in ice, punched him once in the nose, and then punched him again so hard in the mouth his jaw cracked. ASNA had to relocate my family to this dinky ass town to cover it up. So here's my warning. Don't mess with me or my peeps, or there will be consequences. Got it?" The audience responded in silence. "Good."

Ms. Pillsbury followed the threat with a nervous laugh. "W-what she means is that if there's any trouble, she will _report_ you to the proper a_uthorities_. She would _never _use her powers against another _student_ on school property. That would result in immediate expulsion. Am I _correct, _Ms. Lopez?"

Santana scoffed. "Yeah, whatever."

Quinn's own introduction was straight to the point.

She glanced around the gymnasium from her seat and sure enough, all eyes were her. She sighed, stood, and made her way down to the floor with a leisurely stroll. She didn't care how long it took, they could wait. Everyone always waited for Quinn Fabray.

"My name's Quinn." She stated as soon as her feet hit the last stair. She twirled around to face the audience. "I'm a senior and I've lived in this terribly small-minded town my entire life." Her voice was clear, soft, but still carried an edge that commanded the audience's attention like none other. She ran her fingers through her messy pink hair. "I'm a Mimic. I didn't manifest until earlier this summer. That's all there is to it. Any questions?" She raised an eyebrow, daring anyone to ask her to elaborate.

"What the hell does that even mean?" Azimio Adams (a wall phaser, which is like, seriously the absolute worst power for a hormonal teenage boy to have), questioned loudly. He was apparently part of the more _dense _population that was immune to Quinn's signature Glare of Death.

"It means she can copy your powers_, imb__e__cile_." Santana spoke out from somewhere in the middle of the crowd.

"Oh! Like Rogue from X-Men, right?"

Quinn answered before her best friend lost her temper. "Yeah sure, whatever. Just like Rogue." Of course, not really, but she just knew there was no use in explaining.

"As a Mimic, she is actually capable of thoroughly analyzing a super-natural's abilities in seconds—" Mr. Jenson interjected with an excited lilt to his tone. "—by touch or by proximity. Her DNA automatically resequences to mimic the abilities analyzed." He adjusted his glasses. "It's actually quite incredible, really."

Quinn flushed at the textbook definition of her abilities. "Anyway, are we done here because—"

"So, Quinn. Like, if I touch you for too long, you'd kill me?" Another dumb jock—Justin, the super-healer, she remembered from an earlier introduction—interrupted her sentence. She bit back the urge to punch the guy in the throat. He'd survive anyway.

"Do you want me to test that theory on you, idiot? Weren't you listening?"

"From what Puckerman said, it would be worth it, babe." He snickered and high-fived his other dumb jock friends.

Quinn sneered in disgust. Even Puck had the sense to look bashful at that statement. Her headache was coming back in full force.

"_Moving on_!" Mr. Jenson knowingly prevented a blood bath between the vulgar football player and Quinn. "Next student please!"

Quinn scowled at no one in particular and stormed towards the double doors of the gymnasium.

"Quinn!" Ms. Pillsbury, the unfortunate faculty member nearest to the door, called out. "This class isn't over yet."

Quinn halted in her tracks and turned to the counselor. "Look, I either leave right now and go about my business or stay and get thrown out anyway for kicking a jock in the balls." So Santana was rubbing off on her a little, sue her. "I have a headache and I'm going to the nurse's office. Permission?"

Miss Pillsbury stared at the girl in front of her wide-eyed, mouth flopping open and closed before nodding frantically. "O-of course. Feel better then?"

Quinn smirked in triumph, even though it felt as though her head was being split in half by an axe. She spun on her heels and disappeared down the hallway.

* * *

><p><em>Santana Lopez (1:53pm): Q, you good? I'll take care of that idiot. Where are you?"<em>

_Quinn Fabray (1:54pm): Nurse's office. Going to try to sleep off this headache. I need a favor though._

_Santana Lopez (1:54pm): Shoot._

_Quinn Fabray (1:55pm): Bring me Sam Evans. It's important._

* * *

><p>'<em>Uncomfortable silence is officially the bane of all social interaction.' <em>Rachel thought, as she uncrossed her legs and pushed herself further into the bright orange chair—a piece of furniture that stood out almost painfully against the neutral-themed office. Three different brochures were spread across the glass coffee table in front of her, and the rather stern looking woman sitting across from her continued to stare intently out of the window, the silence seeming not to affect her in any sense.

"So," Rachel began, nearly flinching as the woman's green eyes snapped back to hers in response to the broken silence. She silently shuddered. It almost felt as though the woman was looking straight through her.

"Have you made your decision, Miss Berry?" The woman cut in abruptly.

Rachel froze, taken aback by the question. "I don't think—I don't think something of this caliber," she waved her hand dismissively over _The Program's_ brochures, "is a decision that I can make in such a few hours. I'm sorry for your inconvenience, but deciding on a commitment in such a short time is completely-"

"I understand it might seem rushed." The woman once again interrupted, ignoring the glare from Rachel. She stood, straightened her pencil skirt and brushed imaginary lint off of her crisp, cream colored blouse.

"You won't come across this offer very often Ms. Berry. I hope that _you _understand that."

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "I might be mistaken, but I feel like I'm being pressured into joining something that I know next to nothing about."

The woman—Sandra— pushed her rimless spectacles to the bridge of her nose. "You _are _being pressured, Rachel. But please understand, it's not about _joining _anything. As I've said before, a nomination for _The Program _does not necessarily mean that you will get _in_to it. It simply assures that your application will be reviewed along with a mental and physical evaluation. Many tests must be performed and—"

"Mental and physical evaluation? Dr. Meade—" Rachel leveled a gaze towards the woman who was now leaning delicately against Principle Figgins wooden desk. "Even though I have thoroughly examined the brochures that you have given to me and we have discussed the benefits of high school students being a part of such a program, which —on a side note—is an extremely…tempting…offer…" Rachel's sentence trailed off as she spotted a head of pink hair disappearing into the nurse's office through the giant glass window of the principal's office.

Was that Quinn? Yes, she was certain that was Quinn. But why was she going inside the nurse's office? Was she sick? It was only the first day of classes, and she seemed fine this morning. Did something happen to her? Was she hurt? Accidently? Purposely? Perhaps a long lasting illness? Will it affect her performance in glee? As captain of New Directions, it _would _be important to check on a fellow member, especially if it would affect their performance. Perhaps she should go see —

"Miss Berry?" Rachel's eyes snapped back to the woman standing in front of her. She had completely forgotten that the woman was even there. Her eyes drifted towards the nurse's office door once more before finally making her decision.

"Dr. Meade, I understand that this opportunity is extremely rare, and I am…_beyond _honored that I have been selected for such a program, but I simply cannot make a sound decision at this point in time, particularly without my parents' consent—"

"Parental consent is _mandatory, _regardless."

"—although I turn eighteen in a few months time, their _support_ and _guidance_ is still very important to me. All I ask for is a few days. Allow me to process this information along with my parent's input—" The woman opened her mouth to speak, but Rachel continued on. "—so that I can make a sound decision that will properly benefit me in the future."

Dr. Meade shifted her eyes to the window and tapped her fingernails against the desk. Her superiors wanted confirmed candidates as soon as possible, but the girl had a point.

"Just a few days, Dr. Meade. Please."

The woman sighed, but leveled a stern gaze towards Rachel. "_Three days_ Miss Berry. Seventy-two hours from now, no later. Please understand that time is of the essence."

"Of course. Thank you Dr. Meade. I'll take my leave now." The woman watched as Rachel gathered her things.

"And Rachel," the woman waited until the girl was facing her once more. "All the information I've given you today is _confidential_." She reminded with a glare. Rachel nodded and walked briskly out of the door.

Dr. Meade watched the girl until she disappeared into another door down the hallway before she dialed a familiar number.

"This is Sandra L. Meade. Secure-line to Atlas Black. Access Code 4H0019."

She listened for the telltale triple beep until a deep voice sounded through her phone speakers._ "This better be good news, Sandra. Did the candidate give us the green light?"_

"Not quite." She sighed into the phone. "It will be seventy-two hours until we know for sure."

"_The window to test for the _PrIME _gene is a approaching quickly. Her paperwork alone will take days to complete!"_

"I understand, sir."

"_No more than three days, Meade. I mean it."_

"But sir, there's a chance that she won't—"

"_Sooner than later, Meade. Until then, this conversation is over."_

Before she could utter a response, the line went dead. "…Yes sir."

* * *

><p>Quinn heard Rachel Berry's thoughts before she walked into the room.<p>

'…_most certainly hope that she's okay.'_

She let out a long sigh from the uncomfortable resting bed. She was on her back with an arm draped over her eyes, a small attempt to block the harsh fluorescent light from making her headache any worse. Even when Rachel stuttered out her name as she got closer to bed, she refused to change her position, or even respond to her.

"Quinn?" Rachel tried once again.

The girl in question gave another long sigh. "What do you want, Berry?"

"I—I saw you walk into the nurse's office and I—" She heard the girl gulp. "I just wanted to check to see if you were alright. It's the first day of classes, you see, and as captain of the glee club I feel that it is my duty to ensure that all members —"

"Yeah? Well, your captain card was pulled the moment you stormed out of glee today. Leave me alone, Berry."

"I'll have you know that I left glee early for good reason—"

'_I couldn't stand the feeling of being left behind.'_

Quinn nearly groaned in frustration. Hearing Rachel (or anyone for that matter) think and speak two different things made her mind go numb. "Shut up, Berry. Seriously. If you keep talking, I swear on everything that I will punch you. I have a massive headache. Not in the mood for your rambling right now."

Rachel shut her mouth immediately, but her mind most certainly did not do the same.

'_I'm just worried for her. I wish she could see that.'_

Quinn palmed her eyes and growled loudly in frustration.

'…_always on the defensive. I'll try not to take it personally. As Daddy always says, kill them with kindness.'_

"You _are _killing me, Rachel." Quinn nearly whined. Ever since she walked into the room, Quinn's headache had transformed from a dull ache to a pulsating throb.

Rachel blinked in confusion. She was almost certain that she did not say the last sentence out loud. Unless—

"Just —stop okay? Stop thinking so much. Stop talking so loud. My head is literally about to explode. Just…with everything, _stop_." Quinn removed her hands from her eyes to stare pleadingly at Rachel, hoping that she would just put together the pieces.

"Oh—" She watched for a few moments as Rachel's eyes shifted to the floor. "_Oh! _Oh my God. You're a telepath!" Quinn winced as Rachel's voice hit an annoyingly high pitch.

"Yes, I'm a—no wait. I mean, yes I can hear thoughts, but I'm not—I'm a telepath right _now_."

'_Oh God. Oh God! Has she been listening to my mind all day?'_

Quinn scoffed at this. "Trust me when I say that you're not that important, Berry."

"But wait," She watched as Rachel tapped her chin with her index finger. "I remember your interview on the news this summer. You said that you were a Mimic right?"

Quinn raised her upper body so that she was resting on her elbows to get a better look at Rachel. "You actually watched that?"

Rachel nodded the affirmative.

"Think about what being a Mimic entails, Berry. I _copy _powers."

The diva's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh." Rachel paused for a moment before adding, "What an awful power to take on."

Quinn nodded with a small smile. "You're one of the first people to agree with me on that one."

"It must be overwhelming, being around so many people. Have you learned to control it yet?"

"I can't. I deal with it though."

The room filled in silence.

"How's your headache?" Rachel was the first to break the silence.

Quinn's nose scrunched in concentration. Rachel might've briefly thought it was adorable, but if it was something she noticed, she didn't show it. "It's actually not terrible at the moment." And Quinn wasn't lying. It had actually come down to a bearable level within the past few minutes.

"Funny story, I actually helped someone over the summer with the same—"

Santana interrupted Rachel when she made her entrance through the office door. "I've brought you Vagina Lips, your majesty." Her best friend sneered followed by a mock bow. Sam huffed indignantly behind her.

"My lips don't look like a—"

Santana smirked. "You should've seen his face when I cornered him and said you wanted to speak to him. He nearly pissed himself—" Her eyes finally zeroed in on the girl standing at the foot of Quinn's bed.

"What the hell is the Hobbit doing here?"

"She was just leaving." Quinn stated immediately.

Rachel brushed off the insult. "I suppose this is where I take my leave. Feel better, Quinn." She nodded towards Santana, who only scowled in return, then walked towards the nervous boy standing behind her. "Hello, Sam."

"H-Hey, Rachel."

Quinn scowled at the familiarity between the two. "How do you know each other?"

Sam scratched the back of his head, most likely nervous at the tone of Quinn's voice, and even more likely worried that his association with Rachel could damage his fragile reputation. It was only his first day at this school, but Quinn was sure he already heard stories of Rachel Berry's pariah-like status.

"I just…uh…see her around town…sometimes." Sam shrugged.

Rachel concentrated her gaze onto the floor, and then left without another word. Quinn watched as Sam slumped his shoulders.

Curious.

When the door finally clicked shut, Quinn spoke to Santana. "I need you to leave. I have to talk to _him _alone.

"Oh yes. Sure! Of course, your highness. I'm only here to serve!" Santana's sarcasm levels were soaring high. "And for the record, bitch; _you're_ _welcome_."

Quinn rolled her eyes at her best friend's dramatics. "Thank you." She sing-songed, but was met only a rapid drop in temperature, and a storm out that could only rival Rachel Berry's. She shook her head in amusement as the door slammed shut, then focused a hardened gaze on Sam.

'_We have a lot to talk about.'_ She thought as menacingly as possible, knowing that the boy could hear her loud and clear.

Sam could only gulp audibly in response.


	4. Coming Home

**Chapter 4: Coming Home**

* * *

><p>Rachel Berry loved her home.<p>

It was her ultimate comfort zone. The warm brown and toffee painted walls; The soft lighting; The large crystalline windows; The numerous pictures of various outings with her dads; The smell of brown sugar and vanilla (her daddy, Hiram's, favorite candles); The extremely plush sofa and love-seat set in the living room; The deep blue and gray colors of the kitchen; Her mind-numbingly soft four-poster bed…

Everything was invitingly familiar. It was hers, untainted by the vile insults that echoed throughout the hallways of McKinley high on a daily basis.

She scowled as she kicked off her shoes and dropped her pink backpack in the foyer.

She loathed the high school for all it was worth. But more importantly, she loathed what the school did to the mind of her peers. All of the fuss about hierarchy, social standings, insecurities, and low opinions of self worth caused (talented) people such as herself to be easy targets. For more than three years, she had hoped that if she held her head high, continued to take all of the insults with grace (as much grace as a diva storm-out would allow), and worked hard at her goals (which might've involved sabotaging a teacher's career, stealing the head cheerleader's boyfriend for personal gain, outing said head cheerleaders pregnancy to the school, and sending a singing rival to a crack house), her classmates would realize that there was more to life than the trivial matter of high school popularity. And now with the addition of super-natural powers…

Rachel thought about the events that occurred to her after she left the nurse's office: One of her school notebooks being frozen to the roof of the girl's—she, of course, knew who _that_ perpetrator was, the mysterious gust of wind that blew all of her sheet music straight out of the front doors of McKinley, two penny-sized holes suddenly appearing on her favorite pink water bottle that caused all of the liquid to leak into her lap (she suspected it was someone with laser vision), and nearly dying of a heart attack when she saw Azimio's _head_ poke _through_ the stall as she was attempting to use the bathroom on the second floor.

She shook her head of those thoughts.

At this point, McKinley was simply a means to an end. _If_ ASNA allowed it of course.

She wandered into the kitchen for a glass of water. Her throat was suddenly dry at the thought of the super-powered organization taking away something else from her. First it was her unique talents, now it was the New Directions. Sometimes she just wished they would go back into hiding.

'_You forget that people tell your parents that on a daily basis.'_ Her subconscious gravely reminded. She instantly felt guilty about that wish. Discrimination was discrimination, no matter the situation, after all. Having to hide who you were for the sake of normalcy was hurtful, and her fathers had experienced this first hand.

Yet still…

The jealousy she felt of her super-natural peers was overwhelming. She always thrived on the idea of being special; that being different, though teased and ridiculed, would be the very ticket to get her out of Lima. Now that the super-naturals have taken her place in the spotlight, getting noticed as a _normal_ girl who happens to have a fantastic vocal range would be harder than ever.

Dr. Meade's business card that she had hastily pocketed at the end of their discussion earlier that day suddenly felt much more like lead, than a flimsy piece of cardboard.

Rachel set the glass of water she was sipping on in the sink. She still needed to talk to her parents about the offer. She had seen their vehicles in the driveway, but they're probably incredibly engrossed in work in their study, that's usually the only reason why she wasn't greeted as soon as she walked through the door. Still clad in her knee highs, she stepped virtually silent up the stairs and down towards the end of the hall towards the study.

"Dad? Daddy?" She opened the door without knocking, but instantly regretted her decision and slammed the door shut. She raised her hands to her cheeks to try to cool down the blush that adorned them. Her eyes slammed shut to tune out the heavy rustling of papers and hurried whispers from behind the door. Oh God. She hadn't just seen what she thought she saw, did she?

Her parents were still young and very much in love, and intimacy is very important in a healthy marriage, but still—they were her _parents._

This was definitely something she would never want to walk into.

Rachel was happy to head to her room, lock the door, and pretend that this incident never happened, but the study door creaked open before she could follow through on her decision. The deep voice of her daddy, Hiram, filled the hallway.

"Honey? We—We didn't hear you come in."

"Well I'm here now, so I'll just—" Rachel could barely form her words. She was entirely too embarrassed about the situation.

"Rachel, sweetie, I'm sorry that you had to see that." Her dad, Leroy's, voice squeaked from somewhere behind him.

"Leroy honey, don't apologize for our actions. We are two healthy adults after all. It's perfectly normal for us to—"

"Yes, but for our only baby daughter to see your rear-end in a compromising position —"

"A position that you clearly put me in, Lee—"

"Oh God, please stop talking." Rachel's screeched in an octave much higher than her normal speaking voice. By now the blood had all rushed into her face and she felt as though she were going to pass out.

"We thought that you had glee practice this afternoon, Rachel."

"But regardless, I'm certain that your father and I have taught you proper etiquette, and I'm almost certain that knocking on the door was one of them."

"Hiram! Don't you think that she's already learned a lesson from this? She'll be traumatized for the rest of her life! Rachel, Sweetie, I'm so sorry. We honestly didn't know that you were home."

Still not looking in their direction, Rachel nodded vigorously, trying to get away from this situation at any and all costs. "Our glee practice was at lunch today so…I need to…um…I have homework—"

"How_ was_ your first day of school, Sweetie?" Hiram interrupted his daughter's mumbling.

"It was—it was fine. I should get going so—"

"Nonsense! Your father and I would love to hear about your day, right Leroy?" Hiram nudged his husband hard in the ribs.

"Of course." Leroy grumbled, but brightened at his next sentence. "I'll grill up some veggie hot dogs and we'll discuss this downstairs?"

Rachel let out a strangled gasp.

Hiram face-palmed in exasperation. "_Hot dogs? _Right now, Leroy?"

Leroy seemed to be confused. "What did I say?"

* * *

><p>Rachel tried not to fidget as she sat across from her parents on the kitchen island. The brochures she procured earlier were spread in front of them and Dr. Meade's business card sat directly in front of her.<p>

"So what do you think?" She still couldn't look them in the eye after catching them during a rather _intimate moment_, so instead focused on a point on the kitchen cabinets directly behind them.

"Well," Leroy began, fully aware that his daughter was still highly uncomfortable. "It seems like an amazing opportunity, but —"

"But it seems like a rigorous program." Hiram took over from his husband. "Do you think this is something that you can handle? The fact that it's experimental—"

"I know, I know. It's just…" Rachel attempted to explain her insecurities without making it seem that she wanted to accept candidacy into _The Program _for the wrong reasons. "It's not even certain that I'll get in, but I'm willing to try. I mean look here," She pointed to an open brochure to her left. "It's a government funded program and it guarantees that it comes with the highest recommendations to the school of my choice. There's even a stipend at the end of your first 6 months of training that can go towards college —"

"Rachel, while recommendations for college are helpful, your excellent grades and talents are more than enough to —"

"No daddy, I don't think you understand. My grades and talents _are not '_more than enough' anymore. Darwin's theories made sure of that." She mumbled the last part under her breath. "I need something a little _extra _to one up my super-natural peers. I feel that _The Program _offers that opportunity."

"Rachel," Leroy's voice took an authoritative tone. "Don't tell me you're doing this just to get some kind of revenge on those blockheaded bullies at your school."

"Of course not!" She instantly protested. But she was only being partially honest. Success was the greatest revenge, after all.

"I just—" Rachel thought carefully about what she was going to say. She ultimately decided to be honest about it. "I just want to be special again. I _need_ something to call my own; something that makes me stand apart from the crowd."

"Honey, you are special—"

Rachel held up her hand before Leroy could finish. "Dad, I understand that you feel that way, and I appreciate it, but _I _would like to feel that way about myself also."

Her parents grew silent, mulling over their daughter's words.

"I don't think you guys understand—and it's my fault actually—how much _hell _I go through on a daily basis at that school. Do you think the American Super-Natural Alliance has made things any better? Do you think that I'm happy that I don't even have the potential to evolve into something incredible, but my past tormentors have?"

Hiram sighed heavily. Leroy looked like he was on the verge of tears.

"Alright," Leroy rubbed his hands tiredly over his face. "Before your father and I discuss this decision, tell us everything you know."

Rachel blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"_The Program. _Tell us everything you know about it."

Rachel opened her mouth to speak, but then Hiram added, "Everything that's _not _in the brochure."

Her mouth instantly clicked shut. If she were going to be honest, she really didn't know much.

The brochures merely spoke of the benefits of joining _The Program_: High college recommendations, stipends in order to help pay towards college, prestigious awards, medical, dental, optical, and even pet insurance the moment the participant turned 18, and most importantly, the opportunity to set yourself apart from the crowd.

Her session with Dr. Meade was equally as vague as the brochures.

"_We're forming a team of talented individuals such as yourself." Dr. Meade stated after listing off the benefits of _The Program_._

_Rachel scrunched her nose at this. She knew she was talented in the arts, but she wasn't quite sure of the 'talent' that the woman was referring to. She wasn't a super, obviously, and she was most certain that the National Security Division of the government wasn't looking to form a new singing group._

"_Just what kind of team are we speaking about, Dr. Meade?"_

"_A national defense team."_

_Rachel opened her mouth to respond, but the woman already had an answer to the question that was going to be asked. "I am not able to elaborate on those details at this time. I don't have the clearance."_

_Rachel nodded and mulled over what she knew. "But," She shifted in her seat. "This doesn't explain why you want _me_, or why I was even recommended for this program in the first place. I have little to no experience in…well…_anything _that could benefit you for joining this team. I have never been in JROTC, I have next to no martial arts experience other than the toddler defense course I took when I was five-"_

"_Trust me when I say, that your experience, or lack thereof, is not why I'm here today." Dr. Meade interrupted amusedly. "Do you remember you Manifestation Potential test?"_

_Rachel nodded solemnly. She didn't like to think about it._

"_Within the test, there was an intensive psychological portion, along with the blood test in which you were given a negative reading, yes?"_

"_Yes, but-" _

"_Rachel, you may not have the potential to become a super-" Rachel tried not to wince at this. "But we've picked up on some information that indicates you might have an unknown potential for something else."_

_Rachel slid to the edge of her seat in stunned silence. "I'm—" Her mouth hung open. She honestly couldn't find the words that she wanted to express. Part of her was thrilled at the idea of being sought out for such a unique quality. Another part of her was terrified that she didn't have a clue as to what it was and why it was so important that she was sought out by a high ranking government official._

_She cleared her throat at an attempt to speak once again. "W-what exactly is this unknown potential?"_

"_That information is classified until further notice._

"_But—"_

"_Miss Berry, candidacy for this program does not guarantee that you'll get into it. Your membership will be based off of the results of further testing." _

_Rachel remained silent as she took in the entirety of the information. She suddenly felt extremely light headed. "I hope you understand that I need time to think about this, Dr. Meade."_

_The woman nodded her head in affirmation. "Take your time."_

Rachel scoffed at the memory. Little did she know that "Take your time" meant sitting in awkward silence for over an hour, then being expected to make a decision without discussing it with her parents first.

She ended up paraphrasing the entire conversation to her fathers, sans the fact that she only had a seventy-two hour window to accept the offer.

She took a deep breath afterwards and waited anxiously for their response. The men looked at each other, seemingly having a conversation with their eyes alone. She began to tap her fingers against the marble countertop.

"Rachel, honey?" Rachel's eyes snapped up at the sound of her dad's deep voice. "Your daddy and I need to think about this and discuss it privately."

"But dad!" Rachel protested before he even finished the sentence. Leroy held up his hand in order to stop her impending tirade. His normally complacent tone shifted to a stern one. It caused her to shut her mouth immediately.

"Rachel, this is a lot of information that we're processing. Give us some time to run through the pros and cons. Until then, you need to wait for our decision. Agreed?"

Rachel nodded her head as her shoulders sagged in defeat. "Yes, dad." She couldn't hide her dejected tone. Who knows how long that decision would take?

She slowly slid off of the kitchen stool. She needed to get some fresh air.

"I think I'll go for a run now, if that's okay?" She waited on her parents' nods before heading for the stairs. It wasn't long before she was out on her front porch steps, hair in a haphazard ponytail, and lacing up her sneakers in her workout tank top and shorts. Her iPod was tucked securely into its running case, and her headphones were placed delicately into her ears. As she bent over to do her calf stretches a pair of sneakers came into her field of vision. She jerked up in surprise, but when she saw who the sneakers belonged to her face morphed into a scowl.

"Rachel." The voiced sounded embarrassed.

"Sam." She responded icily.

The boy scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Hi."

"What are you doing here?" She didn't return his greeting.

"I just got home and I saw your car across the street so I thought I'd stop by—"

"Oh? So you know who I am now?" Her tone was bitter.

"Rachel," He sighed. "You know I didn't—"

"Of course you didn't." Rachel's replied sharply. "Now, if you'll excuse me —"

"Rachel." Sam grabbed her arm before she could jog away. She glared daggers at his hand but allowed him to lead her back towards the steps. He sat down, and then motioned for her to do the same. She decided to cross her arms and stare down at him instead.

Sam sighed, but allowed her dominant position. "I just want to speak to you."

"You're actions earlier today spoke volumes."

"Rachel, today that was—that was fucked up, okay? I'm sorry."

The diva sniffed and stared angrily at a point somewhere to her left.

"Look, you were, like, the first person that's been nice to me in this town since I've moved here. Your family did so much for mine and you got me that job at the coffee shop—I just—I'm bad with words. I'm sorry, okay?"

Rachel sighed. "Being shunned like that today—that was hurtful, Sam. We don't have to be the best of friends at school. I understand that we have our own separate interests and social circles, but you didn't even acknowledge that we were _acquaintances_ much less friends."

Sam hung his head in shame. "I know. That was—the more I think about it, that was crappy. But with Santana and Q-Quinn standing there," he couldn't help the stutter that came from saying the pink-haired girl's name. "I just panicked. Those girls are much scarier than what you described by the way, especially Quinn. She's ah—the devil's reincarnate."

Rachel relaxed her stance. "Yes well, she's actually a lot more toned down than she used to be."

Sam's mind drifted to the conversation that he had with Quinn earlier when Santana and Rachel had left them alone. He grimaced and couldn't stop the shudder that ran down his spine at the thought. Her threats were something he didn't think he could ever consciously shake. "How did you do it?"

If Rachel noticed that his voice was a pitch higher than normal, she ignored it. Instead, she finally sat down next to him and shrugged her shoulders. "Tough skin, I suppose? Maybe that's the after-effect of being her favorite target for years."

"That sucks."

"I suppose that she received her powers from you then?"

"Yeah, it was an accident. She nearly jumped over the coffee shop counter to strangle me when she found out." He frowned at the memory from just a few months ago. "That's why she had me cornered today. She wanted to find a way to stop the headaches."

Rachel's hands immediately flew to his forehead "What about you? How are you feeling today?"

Sam tried not to let his eyes slide shut at the feel of her cool hands. "Eh. Not too bad. It's been worse. It was hard to find a focus and it's just been a stressful day."

Rachel settled her hands back onto her lap. "Just try to get some rest today, okay?" Sam nodded his head.

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before the blonde boy stood. "I should get going to work soon. I've got to log as many hours as possible before football practice starts."

Rachel looked surprised. "You tried out for football today?"

"Yep." His face lit up in accomplishment. "Coach Beiste picked me right on the spot."

"Congratulations." Rachel was genuinely proud of her friend, but couldn't help the dejection when she realized their friendship would be virtually non-existent the moment he put on the football jersey.

"I'll see you later, Rach."

Rachel waved goodbye as she watched him jog across the street to his own vehicle. She watched him reverse out of the driveway all the way until the vehicle disappeared around the corner. She didn't actually move from her seat until long after the sun had set and the temperature began to drop. Jog forgotten, she finally stood and made her way through the front door back into her home.

* * *

><p>"Rachel." She jumped suddenly at the sound, as she didn't expect her fathers to be in the living room. "Come sit down for a moment." Hiram patted the space on the couch between him and his husband. Rachel joined them hesitantly. She felt her stomach coil in anticipation to hear the results of her fathers' discussion.<p>

"I will begin by letting you know, honestly, that your daddy and I agreed and disagreed on many points of this decision. " Leroy began, glancing at his husband for support. "On one hand, this _Program _seems to be extremely beneficial towards your future." Rachel nodded her head. "On the other hand, the Program isn't clear as to what their goal is. Their descriptions are vague and their purpose is all but left out. I'll tell you right now that your father and I don't like this aspect of it at all.

Rachel nodded her head once more. "I understand."

"But your Dad and I have to start facing the facts." Hiram continued from his husband. "You turn eighteen in December, and it's about time that we allow you to make decisions on your own, consequences or not. Although we may not agree with every decision you make, we will most certainly respect them.

"_And_ I trust that we've raised you to weigh your options wisely." Leroy added.

Rachel's mouth gaped open in shock. This was not the way that she saw this conversation going. To be honest, she had expected her parents to flat-out refuse her request to accept candidacy. She thought that she would have to argue long and valiantly in order to change their minds. The fact that they were giving her the responsibility to make such a monumental decision made her chest swell with pride.

"The minute things become too much, you will break your contract, no matter the consequences. Understand? Your safety is our priority, Rachel." Leroy stated without question.

Before she could stop herself, she engulfed her parents in a warm hug. "You won't regret this. I promise." She stated, words muffled by their sweater vests.

Hiram discreetly tried to wipe at the tear at the corner of his eye, and Leroy let out a mysterious sniffle.

Rachel Berry stood from the couch, marched towards the center of the living room, then spun on her heels to face her family.

"Dad," she nodded towards Leroy. "Daddy," She nodded her head towards Hiram. She couldn't stop the grin that threatened to split her face. "I would officially like to announce my intent to be a candidate of _The Program_."


	5. None Of Your Concern

**Chapter 5: None Of Your Concern**

* * *

><p>"What do you think they want with her?" Mercedes Jones asked to no one in particular. She was causally leaning against the row of lockers directly across from the windowed main office; the very one that Rachel was currently talking and rapidly motioning her hands to a stern looking woman in a business suit. It was only a couple days into the semester, so there wasn't nearly enough time for Rachel to have done anything drastic.<p>

Kurt, standing to her immediate right, shrugged his shoulders. He had heard, as well as the rest of the student body, Rachel Berry's call to the main office over the PA system. "I haven't spoken to her since she left glee the other day."

"Do you think she's in trouble? Maybe she finally snapped." Tina questioned from Mercedes' left.

"Nah." Mike, arms settled comfortably around Tina's waist from behind, added. "She looks way too cheerful to be in trouble."

Mercedes took in the side view of Rachel Berry's beaming smile. "Maybe she's getting transferred. I wouldn't blame the girl. If I had to take half the crap that she's been through —"

"Who's getting transferred?" The thirty percent or so of New Directions looked up, startled by the sight of none other than Quinn Fabray. She was sporting a black cutoff sleeved shirt today, tied in a knot just above her belly button in way that was bound to break at least a few dress codes, and a long flowing gray skirt. Her pink hair was in as much disarray as it was yesterday, if not even more so, and the small silver stud that was in her nose the day before was replaced with a slightly larger ring. Despite, the lack of the familiar WMHS Cheerleading uniform, she was still a force to be reckoned with.

Mercedes was the only one brave enough in the group to answer her question. She had gained plenty of blackmail material on Quinn after living with her during her baby-gate stint, after all.

"Rachel. I think she's—"

"Berry's transferring?" Quinn asked a little bit too quickly. Both Mercedes and Kurt raised their eyebrows at this. Mike and Tina pretended to not have heard anything.

"I mean," Quinn cleared her throat to start to rectify her outburst. "I'm actually surprised that she hasn't done it sooner."

Kurt shook his perfectly coifed head. "We really don't know for sure. We're just speculating."

"But why else would she be called into the main office?" Quinn wondered out loud. When Rachel's name was called over the PA system during her first period, she only shared a brief look of confusion with Santana before dismissing the thought completely (sort of). She didn't think it was a big deal at the time.

"Does anyone know why Rachel was called to the main office?" Artie rolled onto the scene. Everyone shrugged their shoulders.

"She was called into the office during glee club too, remember?"

The group all murmured in remembrance. Artie continued, "I read the message on the notice from the office aide before I delivered it to Rachel. All it said was that a representative was here to see her and that it was important. I don't know about you guys, but I think that Rachel is transferring schools."

"Rachel's transferring?" Finn wandered onto the scene through front double doors. The boy's face scrunched in confusion. "Why wouldn't she tell me this?"

"We don't know for sure." Mike offered.

"Just speculating." Kurt finished.

"What are you losers doing standing in the middle of my hallway?" Santana's icy voice filtered into their conversation. "Hey, Q." She greeted on a side note.

Quinn nodded in acknowledgment. Santana glared at the rest of the group. The hallway _was _getting rather crowded.

"Rachel's transferring." Finn contributed with a wave of his hand towards the main office window.

"Maybe." Artie added while adjusting his glasses nervously.

"We don't know for sure." Mike and Tina answered together.

"Just speculating." Kurt finished once again, but this time in a sing-song voice.

"And you guys care, why?" Santana took up residence at the locker right next to Quinn. "Because I know I don't. Shouldn't we be throwing a sheet-music-and-argyle-burning bonfire somewhere in celebration?"

"Rachel isn't a terrible person, Santana." Tina defended Rachel in a surprisingly stern tone. "I'll miss her if she happens to leave, and I'll be kind to her if she decides to stay."

Quinn hummed at Tina's statement, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Santana scoffed. "Look, Crouching Tiger, I don't know who you think you're talking to , but—"

"Even after three years of being her teammate, you have treated her with nothing but disrespect—all of us are guilty of it at some point or another. What has she ever done to you personally for you to continue to be so mean, Santana?" Tina continued. If the group wasn't so surprised by the shockingly gutsy move on Tina's part, they would have interfered. Quinn did, however, shoot the girl a warning glance. "Tina—"

Santana took a threatening step towards Tina. "She _exists. _That's what she has done to me_ personally._" She hissed haughtily as her eyes flashed blue. She could barely stop her fists from clenching at her sides. "Mike, you need to keep your girlfriend in check."

Quinn took note of the warning loud and clear. "Santana—" Before she could finish her sentence, the sound of the bell signaling students to head to their next period stopped the argument.

'_Saved by the bell.'_ She heard Mike sigh out heavily in his thoughts. _'I'm pretty sure if I had to stop that fight, I'd come out with frostbite.' _Quinn smirked at this only because he was absolutely correct. Santana wasn't exactly known for her merciful fighting style. She watched as he took Tina's arm and began to gently lead her away to her next period. Tina's thoughts were oddly silent.

Quinn was suddenly assaulted by Santana's thoughts; all very angry; entirely in Spanish. She didn't even bother to try to decipher it. She'd spent three years in Mr. Schue's Spanish class, and it proved to be absolutely useless. Figures.

"See you later, Quinn." Mercedes, Kurt and Artie all stuttered out their separate goodbyes before disappearing down the corridor.

She looked towards Finn, still leaning against the locker, staring into the main office window. "Don't you have class next period?"

Finn didn't look at her, but answered the question. "Yeah, a math class with Mrs. Gerald," He paused for a beat, and then continued after chancing a glance towards Santana's fuming form. "But I think I'll wait for Rachel." He finally looked towards Quinn. "You don't have a class?"

Quinn shook her head. "Study hall. But if you have Mrs. Gerald, she hands out three for every single tardy. She's strict on punctuality." She watched as Finn crinkled his nose.

'_Coach Beiste would kill me if I missed practice!'_ He thought frantically_. 'I can't leave Rachel to Quinn and Santana either…' _Quinn rolled her eyes at this, but knew that Finn's worries were well placed. _'But I can't slack off, especially with that new Sam kid trying to steal my position…'_

Quinn raised her eyebrow as discreetly as possible. She watched as Finn indecisively scuffed his foot on the floor. _'I'll—I'll check on Rachel at lunch. I really do hope she's not transferring…and even if she is, I hope that I can be someone she could at least talk to about it.' _

With a final glance into the main office window, Finn pushed himself off of the row of lockers and made his way to class. Quinn idly wondered if Finn had ever been nearly as considerate of her when they were in a relationship. Then again, he just left Rachel to deal with two of her worst tormentors alone…

The brightest bulb, he was not, but she could no longer dwell on Finn's dimwitted tendencies since Santana's Spanish mutterings beside her broke her from her thoughts.

'_I'm going to teach that girl her place.'_ Quinn finally caught an English phrase, but she couldn't help the chuckle that came next.

"And you need to work on your temper. You've ruined any chances of 'teaching' Tina 'her place' the moment you set foot into that choir room and decided to _stay_ there, S. We don't maim teammates, got it? "

Santana huffed and crossed her arms. "I remember when they used to be scared of us." She said almost wistfully. Quinn snorted lowly. She remembered those days pretty clearly herself.

"Yeah? Well Berry ruined that for us, didn't she?"

Santana nodded in agreement with an almost fond smile. "The little munchkin screwed up our hierarchy, and it all started just because she wanted sing her little heart out to your T-Rex of an ex-boyfriend."

The pink haired girl cringed at the memories of New Direction's 'humble' beginnings.

"I don't know how you ever dated him." Santana smirked.

"I don't know how you _ever slept _with him, considering the fact that you'd have much rather gone with the more flexible variety. A fellow Cheerio perhaps?" Quinn retorted.

Santana let out gasp before she looked around frantically for eavesdroppers. "I'm _not_—you can't just—you need to watch what you say and _where_ you say it, _comprende_?" She hissed as lowly as possible. Quinn was trying—and failing to catch her breath from laughing entirely too hard.

"Quinn!" Santana voice sounded somewhere between a whine and a growl.

The pink haired girl was now physically doubled over in laughter. It wasn't everyday that she could poke fun at her best friend without retaliation.

Santana's exasperated look suddenly transformed into that of a wicked smirk. Quinn had spoken far too soon.

"You're making fun of _me, _Q?" Santana took a step towards Quinn, who couldn't help the urge to swallow in fear, even though she successfully kept her smile in place. There was a reason why Santana used to be her dangerous second in command.

But then again, there was a reason why Quinn was first in command also.

"Fine, _Quinn," _She drew out Quinn's name in a saccharine tone. "Why don't we talk about your creepy obsession with the man-hands?" Santana hummed lightly while scuffing unassumingly at her nail beds. Quinn was no longer wearing a smile.

"Oh? Quiet all of a sudden? I thought that maybe since we were being so _open_…" Santana purposely trailed off the sentence, her eyes still focused on perfectly manicured nails.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "My obsession?"

"You've always been so…_eerily focused_ on everything Rachel Berry since sophomore year. For some reason, she's always been the giant, red blip," Santana made sure to pop the last 'p', "on your radar."

"She was a target, Santana. We were cheerleaders. That's what cheerleader's do." Quinn raised her eyebrow. "Your point?"

"Yeah, sure. That might've been the case at first," Santana raised her gaze from her nails until she reached Quinn's flashing hazel eyes. "Until you all but demanded the rest of us back off so Berry could become your personal chew toy."

Santana took a daring step closer. "And since we're being so _honest, _I'll tell you that me and the rest of the Cheerios thought it was a little weird how _devoted_ you were to torturing the dwarf. But you were captain—" She lowered her voice. "The Head Bitch In Charge. That's the best part isn't it? No one questions you when you're the Queen of McKinley High."

Quinn clenched her fists tightly, and she couldn't help the slight twitch of her upper lip, but her face was still unnervingly neutral. "You know what I've noticed about you, Santana? All I do is poke you with a stick, and you deem it necessary to hurl a grenade right back" Her voice was low, eerily emotionless, and would send any other normal human being running for the hills.

Santana was no ordinary human being.

"Overkill is what wins wars, Fabray. After you find out what the hell Berry was doing in there, you might want to crack open a history book." Santana nodded her head in the direction of the office. "Here she comes."

Quinn looked up just in time to see Rachel give the sharply dressed woman in the office a firm handshake before practically skipping towards the main office door with a white binder clutched tightly to her chest.

"I still say we throw that bonfire celebration." Santana mock whispered as Rachel drew nearer. "But _someone _would be sad that her favorite plaything wasn't there to keep her company." Quinn, stiff as a board, did not respond. Instead she nodded her head towards the diva in a not-quite-there greeting.

Rachel waved her hand at Quinn and, as if sensing Santana's sour mood, tilted her head respectfully towards her.

Quinn watched in curiosity as Rachel then disappeared down the hallway. Although the girl seemed as cheerful as ever, Rachel's greetings toward her were usually a lot more…exuberant. Not that it mattered, anyway. Rachel was none of her concern, at least not with Santana watching their interaction so closely.

"That woman that was in the office with Berry—She's government." Santana's voice snapped Quinn's attention away from Rachel's retreating form.

"Government? Is It ASNA?" Quinn responded immediately. Despite the tension between the two girls Santana's voice lost its mocking tone at the statement. She watched as the business suited woman packed and secured a solid black briefcase before making her way to the door.

"No. Her badge would say so…" Santana trailed off eyeing the woman's laminated security card pinned securely to her navy blue blazer.

As the woman exited the office, her sharp, green eyes met Quinn's and time suddenly froze. The hair at the back of Quinn's neck stood at full attention. The air suddenly felt charged and Quinn felt the sudden urge to push herself away from the lockers and—

And _flee_. This woman made her nervous.

Incredibly nervous. Not that she would ever admit out loud.

The woman's eye color alone seemed unnatural, but her gaze…

The woman's gaze seemed absolutely predatory.

Quinn's heartbeat increased the moment the woman stepped closer. It took every ounce of her willpower not to avert her gaze. Quinn _was_ known to be incredibly stubborn.

The woman smiled at the two girls and the moment she disappeared through the double doors, time realigned itself and Quinn had to press herself against the lockers just to keep herself from collapsing.

"D-Did you feel that?" Santana surprisingly spoke up first. Her voice sounded just as shaky as Quinn felt.

"Yeah." Quinn was shocked at how steady her voice was, considering that her legs currently felt like jelly. "I felt it too."

"Just what the hell is Berry doing hanging around someone like that? Did you hear anything?"

Quinn thought back to the woman walking past her. She was far too busy fighting off her chills for her to even think about reading someone's mind.

"I got nothing. But I need to talk to Rachel. Something's not right about that woman."

"On a first name basis now, are we?"

Quinn scowled at her currently not-so-best friend.

"Oh don't give me that look, Q. We both know all you want is some alone time with Little Person, Big Words."

Quinn's only response to Santana was a rough shoulder check before stalking down the hallway in the direction where Rachel disappeared.

"Was it something I said?" Santana yelled after Quinn's retreating form.

Quinn rolled her eyes.

* * *

><p>Rachel was vibrating in her seat, both literally and figuratively. It was only lunch period, but her phone had been buzzing in her skirt pocket almost nonstop since she was called to main office earlier this morning. She ignored it; or rather, <em>put off <em>speaking to her classmates until she could come up with a plausible excuse. Though avoiding them physically between class periods was much easier than she thought it would be.

Perhaps constantly having to dodge slushie attacks by ducking into bathrooms and knowing all possible alternate routes to her classes to avoid dumpster dives gave her the practice she needed. So during lunch, she found herself in the campus library alone, scribbling away in her personal notebook, adjusting her future plans to fit around her current life changing decision.

Rachel couldn't help the massive grin that spread across her face; she had just signed the contract guaranteeing her candidacy for _The Program_.

She squealed as quietly as possible but still received a light glare from the librarian.

Her legs kicked excitedly under the table instead. It had been a long time since she has had something to look forward to.

Something meaningful.

Something that could cement her future —as a normal girl —in a world filled with super-natural human beings.

The brief conversation with her new "handler" the night before was all it took.

Dr. Sandra L. Meade of the National Security Division was at McKinley, briefcase in hand, to see Rachel the very next morning. The woman seemed eager, although a lot more controlled about it than Rachel, who practically bounced into the main office and shook the woman's proffered hand with a beaming smile.

"_Are you certain that you are willing to make this commitment, Miss Berry?_

Rachel remembered shaking her head at Dr. Meade's way of giving her an out.

"_Absolutely. Once I set my mind on something, I never back down." _Her eyes connected to Dr. Meade's when she stated those words with incredible passion. Her voice was firm, and didn't have an ounce of hesitancy.

"_Your tests will be rigorous, mentally and physically. If you're accepted into _The Program,_ your training will push you to your absolute limits. Is this acceptable?" _Dr. Meade reminded.

Rachel remembered pausing after that statement. Though the thought of being so far out of her comfort level was daunting, her pause didn't correlate to hesitation. No, it was her attempt at building up her determination.

If military-like training is what she needed to make herself stand out— to make herself known—then it was absolutely worth it. Without a doubt, Rachel had potential. She knew that something was special about her (Dr. Meade wouldn't be here if she wasn't), and she was going to use it to her full advantage.

"_Bring it."_

Rachel watched as Dr. Meade allowed a small smirk to grace her lips.

As the woman began to unpack what was bound to be a mountain of contracts and consent forms from her briefcase, Rachel took the time to simply observe her. Though she had only met Dr. Meade twice now, she was either too intimidated or too shocked by her offer to truly take in her appearance.

Sandra Meade didn't look a day over thirty-five, which was relatively young for a person of such high ranking in the government. Her hair was raven, of medium length, and currently pulled back into a strict ponytail to reveal a marble like facial structure. Her eyes, hidden behind rimless spectacles were an unnatural shade of green that reminded Rachel of sunlight shining on the leaves of lush foliage through a canopy. She suspected that they were contacts (rather realistic ones at that), but her eyes still made Rachel feel extremely uneasy. Her business suit was pressed to perfection, with not one piece of lint to be found on her person. Dr. Meade was the epitome of professional authority, but looking past that, Rachel had come to the realization that the woman was actually a beauty; she had the type of features that someone like Quinn Fabray would probably resemble at a slightly older age.

By the end of the meeting, Dr. Meade sent Rachel on her way with a thick white binder filled with rules, regulations and copies of signed contracts.

"_Your tests begin this Friday at 6pm sharp, as you will be processed and registered into our system by that time. It will be a weekend long affair, so prepare yourself accordingly." _Were Dr. Meade's parting words. _"And I shouldn't have to remind you about the confidentiality of this conversation…Miss Berry?"_

Rachel nodded her head firmly before shaking hands with the woman once more. Even though her father's would be away on business this weekend, she was prepared to make the trip to Columbus by herself.

"_Friday." _

Rachel focused her attention on the table in front of her in the library. The white binder sat directly next to her personal notebook, unopened—at least not yet —in fear that someone might happen to come across its contents. But—

Rachel glanced around the library. She was relatively alone in her corner. What better time to look than now?

She dragged the binder directly in front of her and just…stared. This was it.

She allowed her fingers move almost reverently against the embossed, golden seal on the front cover.

"Berry." A soft voice to her immediate right startled her out of her musings. How in the world was it possible for so many people to be able to sneak up on her?

"Q-Quinn! Is there anything I can help you with it?"

The ex-Cheerio slowly trailed her fingers along wood as she made her way to the opposite side table.

Rachel blamed her thumping heart on the fact that Quinn's visit was completely unexpected and not the fact that the sight of her exposed, toned stomach made Rachel want to…do something. Sit-ups perhaps? She didn't dwell on it for long.

She watched as Quinn's hazel eyes quickly glanced down at the table, then back to herself.

Rachel's instant reaction was to slam her personal notebook over her _Program_ folder to hide the golden National Security Division seal. Rachel knew that Quinn caught the hasty action, but she didn't seem to be bothered nor concerned about the reasons. "Seem" being the key word. Quinn was an observant and analytical person by nature (which has probably increased ten-fold due to the nature of her abilities). They were hazardous qualities if one knew how to use them, and Quinn had been known to use information in very dangerous ways.

"Everyone's been looking for you all day. Did you know that?" Quinn ran one of her hands through her pink hair. "You can be an evasive little thing when you want to be, Berry. The library though? I was hoping you would be a little more creative."

Rachel gaped helplessly at the girl standing across from her.

"Just curious." Quinn's tone was light, deliberately questioning. She hooked a foot beneath the chair's foot rest, dragged it from underneath the table, and then carefully sat down with a cross of her legs. Quinn's movements were slow, measured, and carefully calculated. Through past experience, Rachel knew that those were three characteristics that spelled trouble.

"Rumor has it you're transferring." Quinn fiddled with her nose ring absently. "I hate rumors. What's the point of them when you can go straight to the source?"

Rachel continued to gape at the girl sitting across from her. "Transferring? Why on earth would you think something like that?"

"So it isn't true then." Rachel thought that she saw a look of relief flash across the girl's features, but then again, it could've also been a slight grimace. One could never tell with Quinn.

"Damn it." Quinn sarcastically snapped her fingers in false regret. "Santana was in such a good mood today, too. She was hoping that we've finally chased you away."

'_Well, try not to miss me too much…' _Rachel thought sullenly, until she saw Quinn's lips transform into a smirk.

"Ah ah," She waved her finger in admonishment. "You stay out of my head, Quinn Fabray!"

The librarian gave the pair a loud shush.

"It's a complete invasion of privacy!" Rachel hissed at a much lower volume.

Quinn shrugged her shoulders. "So you're not getting transferred. Why were you called into the office today? And Monday?" She added as a second thought. "Are you in trouble or something?"

Rachel sputtered and huffed indignantly, "Absolutely not! But I don't see why it's any of your concern, Quinn."

'_And it's confidential.'_ Rachel glanced down at the table to make sure that her notebook was still covering the binder. She didn't realize that her thought was strong enough for Quinn to pick up until she saw her shoulder's perk up in interest.

"What's confiden—"

"Nothing!" Rachel interrupted.

Quinn raised a finely arched eyebrow. Rachel certainly knew how much she hated to be so rudely cut off. "W-What I mean is…" Truthfully Rachel didn't have a clue as to what she was going to say. She was going to use her lunch period to try to come up with a plausible explanation…but then it hit her!

"It was ACLU!" She nearly shouted, but just as quickly shrank under the glare of the now-fed-up librarian.

"The American Civil Liberties Union," She leaned forward to whisper to Quinn, who was now resting her elbow on the table with her hand under her chin. She looked utterly unimpressed. "It was supposed to be a secret but," Rachel looked conspiratorially around the library. She would later congratulate herself for quick-thinking acting skills. "My dads and I have—as you can see—quite the unique family dynamic here in Lima."

"Mmhm." Was Quinn's only response.

"Well ACLU has become interested and would like to invite me to…contribute an article to a…small equal rights magazine. Yes! PRIDE magazine."

Quinn hummed in thought. "Funny…that the ACLU would send such a well-dressed, military-esque representative to assist…in writing a gay magazine article."

"Well—"

"Quiet, Berry. I know that you're lying."

Rachel allowed her shoulders to sag. Well, it was worth a try.

"Look, I can honestly care less what the hell you've been doing inside of that office, but something seems off about that new government buddy of yours. I don't like her."

"Frankly, I can care less how you feel about Dr. Meade." Rachel retorted. Quinn narrowed her eyes at the mentioned name. She would have to file away that information away for later, though she suddenly wished she had taken a closer look at the woman's security badge. "It is absolutely none of your concern. I mean no disrespect, but _I_ was sought out by her, not you."

Quinn scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Whatever, RuPaul. I was just trying to look out for you—"

"Back to the ridiculously inaccurate nicknames, Quinn? I seem to notice that you use them when you're trying—and failing—to get me to do something you want."

"Because you're far too stubborn to listen, otherwise—"

"Once again, I shouldn't have to _listen _to you, especially since it has _nothing _to do with _you—_"

"This is stupid. I have better things to do than to argue with you."

"_You _came to seek _me _out! I was minding my own business and—"

"Only because the glee club was _worried _about you, Rachel!" Quinn's chair scraped across the hard floor as she stood up to slam her hands on the table.

Rachel blinked slowly when she realized that she was also standing with her palms flat against the table as well. She opened her mouth to respond to Quinn's outburst until the shadow of the irritated librarian loomed over her. The woman glared at the two girls before pointing sternly towards the library's exit.

"Out. Now! The both of you!"

With a sigh and final glare towards Quinn, Rachel packed her things (taking special care to make sure that the _Program_ binder was still carefully concealed) before making her way towards the exit.

Quinn circled the librarian in an arrogantly slow fashion before sauntering after Rachel.

The librarian shook her head in quiet disbelief. She dropped out of law school for _this_?

* * *

><p>"Berry!" Quinn called after the girl the minute she was in the hallway. "We're not done speaking."<p>

Rachel carried on as if she had not heard her, but Quinn was having none of it. She propelled her feet faster to get ahead of the girl before spinning to stop directly in front of her, barring Rachel's path.

'_I was having such a good day, Quinn.'_ Rachel's thoughts sounded exhausted.

"What do you need, Quinn."

Quinn rested her hands on her hips and simply stared at the girl in front of her, searching her face something that she wasn't quite sure of.

"Quinn?" The girl in question didn't answer. Instead she took a single step forward. Rachel took an immediate step back.

"When I said we weren't done speaking yet, it was because I still had a message to give you." Quinn smirked.

"Well," Rachel scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. "What is the message?"

"Tell me what you were doing in the office this morning and why you're avoiding us." Quinn took another step forward, subtly directing Rachel into a row of lockers.

"I thought you said you didn't care." Rachel took another step backwards.

"Only because you were being annoying." One step forward.

"Regardless, it's none of your concern. Quinn." One step backwards.

"Why are you being so secretive?" Quinn took one more step forward, effectively trapping Rachel.

Rachel didn't seem to realize that fact until she tried to move away and her back hit metal.

"Just tell me what you need to tell me so I can be on my way."

'_I want out of this conversation. Now, Quinn. I know you can hear me and I need you to respect that.' _Rachel's thought was demanding, and taking on a tone similar to that of person that was going to lash out if trapped for too long. Quinn sighed and stepped away from Rachel's personal space. This conversation was starting to bore her anyway.

"Kurt wanted to let you know that there's a glee club meeting after school on Friday. You would've known that if you hadn't of stormed out on Monday, _captain._"

"I'll be there." Quinn watched as Rachel stepped away from the locker with a grateful nod in Quinn's direction, but just as suddenly flinched.

"Actually,"

Quinn rolled her eyes.

"I won't be able to attend that meeting. I'm sorry." Rachel seemed genuinely apologetic. "I have plans right after school with—" Rachel seemed to catch herself mid-sentence with a shake of her head. "I won't be available for that entire weekend actually."

Quinn, the queen of feigned nonchalance shrugged her shoulders lazily. "Whatever, Berry." She watched as Rachel turned quickly and scurried away to…well, Quinn didn't really care. But as soon as she disappeared, Quinn narrowed her eyes in suspicion. It was a known fact that glee took up nearly all of Rachel's free time, so just what the hell did Berry—of all people—have to do on a Friday night that was important enough to skip glee? And with who?

Quinn was absolutely determined to find out.


	6. Focus

**Chapter 6: Focus**

* * *

><p>Quinn decided that she hated Wednesdays. Or, as a matter of fact, any day of the week that she had to spend any amount of time with any amount of people. She blamed it on the telepathy, though Santana would snarl at anyone who cared to listen that Quinn had been a closeted introvert long before super powers were even an issue.<p>

She sighed as she looked around the bustling cafeteria. Quinn hated having to build her mental defenses every time she entered a room, and she hated having to (unsuccessfully for the most part) tune out the disgusting thoughts of her peers. But what she absolutely hated the most was that these problems—these defenses that she had to build long before her manifestation—were nothing new. That was actually the purpose for her drastic change over the summer. She needed freedom from judgment; the stares of adoration and fear; the stares of disdain during her pregnancy. She needed change.

She needed _not to care anymore. _But she also needed to be in control. That part of her could never—would never — change.

Yet this _ability —_she shot a glare at the blonde boy sitting nervously beside her—was taking away her control. It made her unbelievably irritable, which made her intolerable to most of the student body.

Sam had told her that she needed a focus. Someone that was interesting enough to keep her attention.

"_The thoughts…the sounds…t-the headaches. It all gets really overwhelming, I get it." _

"_So, how do you deal with it?"_

Sam had only shrugged his shoulders noncommittally .

Quinn remembered reaching out and tightening her fist around his shirt collar so that she could drag him down to eye level during their 'conversation' that day in the nurse's office. _"Tell me how to fix it." _

_Sam's eyes had widened in surprise."You need to use someone as a focus! S-someone that thinks loudly enough to keep you from hearing everyone else's thoughts, b-but familiar enough that you can also tune them out."_

"_I'm going to need a lot more than that, Sam Evans."_

He shook his head in the negative and could only gulp at her demand.

"_Understand this, _Sam," She spat out his name as if it were poison_. "It's only your first day of school here, so I'm going to grant you an explanation of how things work. You know my friend Santana? The one who nearly made you wet yourself and brought you here? She's the current Head Bitch In Charge—and she _is _someone that you _should_ fear, trust me. But never forget that I am, and always will be, number one_, _and I can still make your life a living hell with a snap of my fingers. Even without the Cheerios uniform. Got it?"_

He had the nerve to scoff at that information. But it was all false bravado. Quinn knew Sam had already heard numerous stories of her former reign of terror over McKinley High, she was sure of it.

Even though Quinn was a good six inches shorter than the boy, and nearly about half his weight, she had the strength to toss him into a nearby chair and nearly straddle him in dominance. All the while the grip on his shirt remained. Her headache that day had come back in full force after Rachel and Santana had left the office, so she was a bit on the pissed off side.

"_You're absolutely useless."_ She hissed before he stuttered out his response. _"And you have absolutely no idea what I'm capable of."_

"_I-I'll—" _

Quinn growled as she shook him harshly within her grip. His stuttering was making her rather impatient.

"_I'll have to show you!"_ She tried not to smirk when she heard his voice crack at an embarrassingly high pitch. She had secretly missed this kind of power; the fear that she could bring to her peers. _"It's not something that can be explained easily. B-but we have to practice in a crowd. It's no good if we just do it by ourselves. Just…scope out potentials of people who can keep you interested."_

Quinn remembered releasing her hold with a push and smirked as Sam attempted to readjust his bearings. _"Fine."_

She was currently perched on top of a cafeteria table during lunch, her legs crossed elegantly at the ankles and resting on the lower bench while her hands occupied themselves by tossing a bright red apple back and forth.

"So, what exactly am I looking for?"

Sam, beside her, only continued to munch unhappily on his protein bar. This was absolutely the last place that he wanted to be at the moment, scoping out a potential focus for Quinn during his valuable lunch (socializing) time, but he couldn't help but to feel a bit privileged. Based on the appreciative stares of various girls and the nods of awe and respect (…and some explicit thoughts of praise) from various guys, sitting alone with Quinn was apparently a big deal.

He heard a jingle of jewelry, then felt a sharp poke against his ribs. He looked up to see flashing hazel eyes. Quinn was not amused.

Sam sighed and balled his now empty wrapper. "Look, I already told you before that you needed to find someone familiar and interesting. Someone that's easy to tune into and easy to tune out."

"How do you even—" Quinn exhaled a breath and softened her tone. "How do you live with something like this…permanently? How can you ever concentrate on anything else?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I was just built for it I guess." He let out a small laugh. "I had help though. A friend, she—they helped me quite a bit over the summer, actually. T-to help with the control."

Quinn narrowed her eyes at Sam's slip up, but didn't question it. He continued, "But tell me something. Do you cringe every time you notice the hum of your refrigerator at home?"

Quinn shook her head in the negative.

"What about a ticks of an analog clock? The hum of your laptop hard drive? What about the _spoken_ conversations going on in this very room? Do you actively seek out to listen those things?"

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "What is your point?"

"It's because you're focused on me—on our conversation, isn't it? What about everyone's thoughts? _Everything_ else becomes background noise."

Quinn stared blankly ahead of her as she mentally rewound the last view minutes of their conversation. Other than a few loud outbursts that were easily dismissed, she hadn't noticed a thing. And her headache had decreased to a less than noticeable level.

"The best way I can explain it is this," Sam continued. "Finding a focus is kind of like tuning and setting radio stations in your car. Can you have more than one station? Sure, but they're going to be radio stations that you actually _want _to hear. And even though you're jamming out to your favorite song, your main concentration will always be on the road."

Quinn nodded her head absently, absorbing the information.

"It's not rocket science."He grabbed his water bottle, took a small sip, and waved absently towards the cheerleaders table in the center of the cafeteria. "Anyway, what about Santana? You're friends. You're around her often enough. And she seems…interesting."

'_And scary as hell.'_ He thought gruffly.

Quinn ignored his thought with a grimace and took a slow bite into her apple. Though it would be rather convenient to have Santana as one of her foci, she could already see the girl purposely thinking lewd or scathing thoughts just to get under Quinn's skin. Her headaches would most certainly not improve in that situation. Quinn huffed noncommittally and continued to eat her apple.

"I'll take that as a no." Sam continued to scan area. "You're in glee club right?" He nodded to the table at the far left edge. "Any of them catch your interest?"

Quinn took in the sight of her fellow glee club members. Tina and Mike cuddled at the end of the bench. Mercedes and Kurt talking excitedly over their upturned cell phones. Finn and Artie taking turns tossing grapes into each other's mouths. Lauren jokingly (she hoped) roughhousing with Puck. And Rachel…

Even though Rachel was sitting in the center of the group, she didn't seem to be involved in the their socialization. Quinn knew Rachel to be extremely vocal and she thrived at being the center of attention, but today she was uncharacteristically tame. She seemed rather distracted, scribbling away in a notebook and looking up every few minutes to inject a word or two into Kurt and Mercedes conversation, and even shaking her head jokingly every once in a while at Finn and Artie's silly displays.

But then Rachel suddenly sat up a bit straighter, as if she knew she was being watched. She quickly glanced around the cafeteria, and then her eyes suddenly drifted to Quinn's.

'_Why is Quinn—' _She watched as Rachel tilted her head curiously before—and Quinn had no idea _why _shenoticed this—tucking a long strand of meticulously curled brown hair behind her ear. _'Why is she looking at me like that?'_

Quinn, startled by Rachel's thought, chanced a glance at Sam, but he seemed blissfully unaware of what had just occurred. Rachel's thought must have blended as background noise for him, but Quinn had heard it loud and clear.

"Anything interesting?"

Quinn didn't respond to Sam right away. Instead, she took a rather forceful bite of her apple. Her eyes drifted back to Rachel against her will, but Rachel was once again scribbling furiously into her notebook. It was as if she had not just caught Quinn staring curiously in her direction just moments before.

"We'll see."

* * *

><p>The gymnasium after lunch was in utter chaos.<p>

"Elemental and Environmental Manipulation supers to the upper right corner!"

"Psychic supers to the upper left!"

"Shape Shifters, dead center!"

"Physical Enhancement supers, lower left!" Mr. Jenson and the other faculty supervisors for Super-Natural Physiology and Training were bellowing at the top of their lungs, attempting to organize the students into working groups based on power type; five groups, to be exact.

"Transportation, Travel, and Flight based supers, lower right! That includes you Mr. Adams!" Mr. Jenson shouted to Azimio, who was currently attempting to escape today's lesson by phasing through a wall next to the bleachers.

Quinn, standing in a small group consisting of Santana, Puck, and Mike (with Sam, petulantly scuffing his shoes behind them, largely ignored), rolled her eyes at Azimio's antics. She knew this class was going to be the bane of her existence from day one.

"I guess I'm heading to the Elemental's." Santana wandered away with a shrug of shoulders. Quinn watched her best friend go with a bit of jealousy and maybe still a bit of disdain from her antics the day before.

"What about you, Puckerman?" She spoke to mohawked boy without looking at him.

"I'm stuck with the nerds I guess. Telekinesis is psychic right? " Puck jogged towards the upper left corner of the gym before she could answer. Sam moved to follow him, but Quinn grabbed him by the scruff of his neck before he could get past her. He shot her a glare.

'_We still have things to discuss. Another time.'_ Was her only warning, before releasing him. She smirked as he stepped shakily towards the rest of psychics.

Mike had already darted to the other side of the room with the other Physical Enhancement supers before Quinn could ask which group he belonged to. That left Quinn by herself for the most part. She didn't have a clue as to what her power type was, and judging by the looks on most of her classmates faces, she wasn't the only one. Should she join a group based on the power she was currently housing? Or should she join based on her root ability—

"I have no idea where I belong. I shouldn't even be here." A dejected mousy looking girl to her left sounded.

Quinn raised an eyebrow, curious as to why the girl felt that way, but mostly surprised (and silently impressed) that the girl was brave enough to speak to her in the first place. "What's your power?"

Mousy-girl sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "All I do is change color…"

The mimic blinked. "Ah. Camouflage?"

"Nope. Just—" Mousy-girl sighed again. "Just primary colors. Red, blue, yellow…and sometimes green on a sick day..."

Quinn could only watch the girl as she trailed off, simply because she had nothing to say. She agreed wholeheartedly that it was quite an unfortunate and useless ability.

'_And on that matter…'_ Quinn took a large step to her right, unwilling to take the risk of accidently mimicking _that _power if her telepathy suddenly decided to cease.

"Quinn?" Mrs. Pillsbury softly voiced her name. "You look a bit confused. Are you not sure where to go?"

Quinn shrugged her shoulders and mentally scoffed. Like she was going to admit out loud that she was anything but sure of herself.

"Well, let's see…" She watched as the campus counselor scanned the room in attempt to place her.

"Mimicry, correct Ms. Fabray?" Mr. Jenson voiced literally out of nowhere, startling Ms. Pillsbury and causing Quinn to tense in alarm.

Mr. Jenson was a tall, older gentlemen; most likely in his later fifties. His voice was warm, yet sturdy and strong. A voice that reminded her of cold holiday nights in front of a blazing fireplace. Her shoulders instantly drooped in relaxation. "If you happened to be paying attention on the first day, you would know that I am a Sensor. I can sense a person's abilities physically or by close vicinity and gain an understanding of their growth potential."

Quinn nodded the affirmative. His hands reached out to cradle her head within his large palms before immediately putting them back at his sides. "I apologize. May I?" He motioned to her forehead. "I can get a better understanding of your powers through physical connection."

Quinn looked towards Ms. Pillsbury to confirm. Only when the woman nodded her head did Quinn give him permission to do so.

His hands gently cupped the sides of her face and she found herself suddenly…grounded, relaxed and unweighted, all at the same time.

Mr. Jenson hummed as if he found something that he was searching for. "I find your ability to be extraordinarily fascinating. After all, you are quite a rare type. There's only two other mimics in the United States that we know of, actually." The teacher closed his eyes in concentration as he continued to rattle off facts. "Did you know that for a human to even take on such an ability, you must have the mind for it? Analytical by nature…malleable. Your very being has been finely groomed to take on such grueling tasks. This applies to all super-naturals. Every single one of you were built to withstand and house your own abilities."

Quinn giggled lightly. It looked like Sam wasn't too far off with his "built for this" comment earlier.

"Any human, super or not, would have been driven insane with the constant changes to your state of mind and DNA structure."

Quinn huffed out a humorless laugh and murmured, "I think I _am_ going insane."

Mr. Jenson laughed as well. "It's overwhelming I'm sure. But it's nothing that you can't handle. I assure you."

Quinn watched as he crinkled his eyebrows.

"A Telepathy ability is currently activated, yes?"

"Yes." She confirmed.

"Hm. And it seems you have several other abilities in your repertoire that are inactive. Other powers that you've previously analyzed, I assume?"

Quinn's eyes widened at this information. This was most certainly news to her. She had always thought that those abilities had—well—disappeared. She had been unsuccessful in reactivating Santana's Ice Manipulation powers since their time in New York for Nationals. She had not been able to reacquire them from her either."What—I mean, they're still there?"

Mr. Jenson let out a hearty chuckle at her suggestion before letting go of her face. "What did you think—that they just _vanished_? Dear Quinn, you must give your superb mind much more credit!" He sent a wave out towards the floor of gymnasium. "It seems as though you are a Psychic type. Though I was most certain you would fit right in with the Physical Enhancement group…" He murmured the last sentence under his breath.

Quinn inhaled to ask the many questions that filled her mind, but Mr. Jenson cut her off by gently ushering her towards her group. "Now, now, Fabray. Time does not stand stationary, and neither should we. On we go!"

Quinn wandered over to the Psychic group in a daze, blatantly ignoring Puckerman's obnoxious attempt at a fist bump and Sam's huff of disappointment.

"Take a look around, class! These will be your teammates for the next few months."

Quinn heard the announcement, and vaguely listened as Mr. Jenson continued to prattle on about the importance of understanding their power type, but didn't pay much attention to it. Her mind was still buzzing with questions and new found discoveries.

She would have to ask these questions to him later, it seemed.

* * *

><p>The end of a rather enlightening Super Natural Physiology class marked the beginning of Quinn's much less informative Calculus hour.<p>

It was one of three classes that she so happened to share with Rachel Berry.

'_A fail?'_

The same Rachel Berry that had just apparently failed a pop quiz.

'_How on earth could that vile woman fail me on a surprise pre-quiz quiz on derivation? It's only the third day of school! I will not accept anything less than excellence.'_

Quinn sat with her elbow propped onto the desk, thoroughly amused by Rachel's frustrations. She was entirely too dramatic.

'_This is absolutely ridiculous! No one could have possibly passed…'_ Quinn watched as Rachel attempted to peek at her own test through her peripheral, so she decided to fake a stretch, putting her bright red and circled 'B+' in Rachel's direct line of sight.

'_Damn it!' _God, Rachel must have _really _hated Calculus.

"Language, Berry. Who knew you were such a potty mouth at heart?"

As for Quinn, she absolutely loved it. Partially—_very _partially—due to the fact that she just officially found her new focus for this class.

Rachel huffed and petulantly crossed her arms. "I thought I told you to stay out of my head, Quinn."

Quinn lifted an eyebrow with a smirk. She knew Rachel absolutely loathed when she did that.

'_I loathe when she does that.'_

Quinn's other eyebrow rose to meet its twin, but her smirk widened. Santana was _really _rubbing off on her_._

'_One day I'm going to shave off that stupid, perfect, eyebrow in your sleep. Let's see who's smirking then.'_

"If you even think about trying that, Berry..."

Rachel growled in frustration before stuffing the pre-quiz quiz haphazardly into her backpack. Quinn furrowed her eyebrows slightly at this. The growl sounded—well—unnervingly realistic, but that thought was quickly dismissed the moment Rachel began to mentally ramble again.

Quinn unconsciously licked her lips and sat back with a smile on her face. Even though Rachel's thought process was certainly entertaining, Quinn _did_ have an ulterior motive for her actions.

Rachel was hiding something.

Quinn did not forget about her confrontation with Rachel in the library, nor the continuation of that in the hallway. She couldn't ever recall Rachel skipping out on glee practice for anything other than severe illnesses, and just the thought of her having a social life outside of school was—It was _Rachel Berry_. Kind of laughable. Like her animal print sweaters.

'_Two more days. Just two more days…'_ Rachel mentally chanted with her eyes closed.

Quinn frowned at this. Rachel did say that the reason why she couldn't attend the Friday glee meeting was because she had a prior engagement. Not to mention that she let it slip that she would be gone for the entire weekend. "What's in two more days, Berry?" Rachel stiffened at Quinn's murmured inquiry. "Because it's most certainly not glee club. You're ditching us."

Rachel's thoughts went eerily silent.

"Still in a secretive mood, I see."

The singer shot a glare in Quinn's direction, but said nothing to refute the statement. She pointedly ignored Quinn for the rest of the period. Rachel had secrets, but Quinn was patient. She was a hunter, and Rachel's cautious demeanor made her the perfect prey. She had always been an extremely curious person and exceptionally observant by nature. Add that to her recent acquirement of Telepathy and that meant that no one could withhold information from her for long.

'_I need to be more careful.'_ Rachel's thought echoed. It sounded low and incredibly distant, even though she was sitting just a few feet away.

Quinn tilted her head at the unfamiliarity of it. She surmised that she wouldn't have normally heard that if she hadn't of—using Sam's ridiculous radio analogy—"tuned" herself into Rachel's thoughts. She filed this information away to ask the boy later. She smirked slightly to herself.

Yes, Rachel was most certainly hiding something.

And what better way to find out the secrets inside Rachel's tiny little head other than to be _inside of her head._


	7. The Testing Pt 1

**Chapter 7: The Testing Pt. 1**

* * *

><p>The second official Glee club meeting was let out early this Friday. It was of no surprise to Quinn, since their beloved captain decided to ditch out. And the club had to face the fact that nothing ever got done when Rachel Berry wasn't around. Even Schuester admitted defeat with a dejected sigh. It looked like even he needed Rachel's motivation in order to stomach the after-school activity on a Friday afternoon.<p>

But the members of New Directions were curious.

Curious about Rachel's behavior for the last week; Deep in thought, less intense. Quieter.

Curious about her mysterious calls to the office; not once, but twice.

And most certainly curious about her absence from glee club. She would have normally been halfway down their throats about Sectionals already, even though it was only the beginning of the semester. So her quiet disappearance left the members of New Directions somehow unfulfilled. Quinn knew that she could work this curiosity to her advantage. The need to find out what Rachel was hiding had been increasing on a daily basis.

Luckily, Kurt beat her to the punch. "I think we should check up on Rachel." His hand was on his chin, seemingly in deep thought. Quinn could not hide her pleased grin. "Rachel wouldn't miss glee unless it was something catastrophic." He finished while running a pinky over his eyebrow. The other members of the glee club hummed in agreement.

"She did storm out in a rage during our kick-off meeting. Maybe she decided to quit?" Quinn, being the devil's advocate, mentioned in false aloofness. "And she did mention something about going out of town this weekend. She was_ really_ sketchy on the details."

Santana gave Quinn a curious glance. Quinn knew Santana long enough to recognize the signs of her sniffing out an upcoming scheme.

"She hasn't really talked to me in days." Finn muttered.

"She has been a bit quiet lately." Tina added.

"Are we sure that she's not transferring?" Mike continued worriedly. "Quinn?"

Quinn already relayed her conversation with Rachel in the library to New Directions at the beginning of glee, omitting a few details, of course. "That's what she claims..." Quinn trailed off. Rachel, of course, confirmed that she was not transferring in the library, but Quinn needed the glee club to question Rachel's motives.

"Recon mission!" Puck blurted from the back of the choir room. His girlfriend—Quinn assumed the status—Lauren was nowhere in sight. Quinn would have to ask him about that later. "Instead of just sitting here guessing, we should just bum-rush Jew-Berry at her house. She would never see it coming."

Quinn smirked and thanked the higher entity that Puck was such a hyper-active tool.

"Dude, we can't just—" Finn started, but was instantly cut off by a chalk board eraser that mysteriously flew across the room and hit him square in the nose.

"Yes we can." Puck said with a smirk. "Stop being such a wimp."

"But what if she isn't—"

"Why the hell do we care, again?" Santana interrupted. Everyone ignored her.

"I agree with Puck," Mercedes added thoughtfully. "All we've been doing is speculating."

"None of us have been very proactive." Artie added, adjusting his glasses.

Quinn's mischievous smirk widened, officially proud of herself for staking their curiosity even further. She was a genius.

Santana raised an eyebrow at Quinn's rather triumphant expression. _'What the hell are you up to, Fabray?'_

"We can take my car." Mercedes rose to begin gathering her things. "I drove my dad's SUV today."

Puck leaped up in order to give her an obnoxious fist-bump. "Nice. Mercedes has the balls to do this," Mercedes frowned Puck's crude compliment. "Now who else is in?"

Artie shyly raised his hand. "I, unfortunately, have a WoW raid scheduled at 4:00pm. But you guys will update me, right?"

"World of Warcraft?" Santana raised an eyebrow. "Really, Wheels? Lame."

"I think the fact that you know what he's talking about make you the 'lame' one, Santana." Quinn murmured.

Even as her lips lifted in a silent snarl, Santana shrugged in nonchalance. "Pop culture references are necessary for proper insults. That makes me pretty damn amazing if you ask me."

"I can't." Mike said with a shrug of his shoulders, either not hearing or ignoring the conversation between Quinn and Santana. Tina, Quinn noticed, had an unreadable expression on her face, but she also couldn't pick up any thoughts on her behalf either. "College Prep."

Puck nodded. "Anyone else?"

Everyone else shook their head in the negative.

"Then what the hell are we waiting here for?"

* * *

><p>"Everything is packed and ready to go?"<p>

Rachel forcefully zipped up her large duffel bag and hefted it from her bed onto the floor with a large thud. "Yes daddy."

"And you're gas tank is full? Did Sam check the oil and tire pressure for you?"

Rachel moved to her bedroom window to peer through her curtains. Sure enough, Sam was halfway under the car hood fiddling with mechanics that Rachel had never bothered to figure out. "Yes dad. He's doing it now."

"Do you have your credit card in case of emergency?"

"Of course, daddy."

"Did you see the cash that we left on the counter?"

"It's already tucked safely into my—"

"Have you eaten yet, honey? I know sometimes you forget to eat."

"Daddy, I'm not a child—"

"You make sure to contact us the minute you get to that facility, young lady."

"This is getting ridiculous—"

"We promise to get there as soon as we—"

"Hiram and Leroy Berry," Rachel blurted in exasperation and turned to fully face her laptop screen. She halted her parents, who were pressed as tightly together as possible to fit within the view of their webcam, mid-interrogation. "I understand your anxiety, but I will be fine. This isn't my first time driving somewhere by myself."

Hiram adjusted his glasses."But it's a two hour drive, sweetie. Are you sure you don't want Sam to go along to—"

"Daddy," She slammed her palms on either side of her keyboard, half panicked and half annoyed. "No! You know why Sam can't go. We've discussed that no one can—" Rachel paused, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath in order to calm herself down.

"Dad, Daddy…" She started in a much gentler tone. "You told me that you'd let me take on more responsibility. You said that you would start treating me like an adult."

"And we meant that, Rachel." Hiram peered into the camera. "But you're still our baby girl. Our daughter. You can't just expect us to just, turn off our worry warts."

Rachel sighed and seated herself in her desk chair in order to get a better look at her fathers. "I'll be fine, I promise. I assure you that tomorrow morning, when I pick you up from Columbus International, you'll wonder why you were ever worried in the first place."

Leroy snorted loudly. "I should have rescheduled that conference. I shouldn't have left my daughter to do this by herself—"

"It couldn't be helped dad. You know that, Daddy knows that, and I know that."

And Rachel was absolutely right. Hiram had a business meeting in New York and Leroy had to speak at a conference in Chicago. Her parents almost never overlap their travel schedules, but when it actually does happen, they worry incessantly over their daughter. It was decided that when Hiram was done with his meeting, he would meet Leroy in Chicago, then together they would fly into Columbus Saturday morning just in time for Parent's Orientation and would drive home with Rachel after her weekend-long testing, Sunday. Rachel thought that things worked out perfectly.

Her Daddies apparently thought otherwise.

"I just can't help this feeling in my gut that—" Hiram started.

Rachel queued a highly uncharacteristic eye-roll, and then proceeded to tune out whatever her daddy was saying. They had been discussing this on and off all week, and the same hesitancies and arguments had been repeated over and over.

"_I just don't trust the intentions of this program."_ They would always say. _"The minute anything goes haywire, we're pulling you from it. Contracts be damned."_ It had all become rather irritating.

She sighed and glanced down to her watch. It was already 3:30pm. She stood abruptly from her chair, effectively cutting off her daddy from his lecture.

"Dad, daddy, I have to leave now or else I'll be late. I'll text you! Love you!" She said in haste. And when her parents scrambled to get in some last minute interrogation questions, Rachel slammed her laptop shut. She would most definitely be hearing about that in the morning.

* * *

><p>Hiram and Leroy Berry stared, slack jawed, at the now black screen of their laptop from their hotel room.<p>

"Did she just—" Leroy looked at his husband.

"She didn't—" Hiram stared right back.

They both narrowed their eyes.

"To get us through the night, Leroy, let's just pretend that the internet connection went dead."

* * *

><p>They had been sitting in the car for just a few minutes, but the members of New Directions were just about ready to kill each other.<p>

"Dude! Stop elbowing me!"

"It's not my fault you're the size of a mini skyscraper, Hudson—"

"If you don't stop breathing down my neck, Origami, I'll—"

"First of all I'm of Chinese descent. Origami is clearly Japanese and second, It's not my fault Mercedes is too cheap to turn on the air conditioning, Santana—"

"I told you, I can't waste gas just 'cause you guys don't know how to roll down a window—"

"And have the wind mess up my hair? I don't think so. You're a walking air conditioner, Santana. Why don't you just—"

"I'm tired as hell, Lady Hummel. Morning Cheerios practice was a bitch."

The only person that seemed thoroughly uninterested in her surroundings was Quinn, who was peering steadily outside the window from the front passenger's seat. Her gaze was fixed further down the street at what she remembered to be Rachel Berry's home and noticed a male figure tinkering within the hood of the girl's car. One of Rachel's fathers, maybe?

"Mercedes," Quinn interrupted Mercedes mid-rant of rising gas prices. "Pull up a little closer, it's hard to see."

Mercedes nodded her head rolled the car forward. Quinn phone buzzed in her lap.

_Santana Lopez (3:21pm): What the hell's got you so nosy all of a sudden?_

Quinn only responded by shooting a quick glare towards the back of the SUV. Her phone buzzed once again. She withheld a groan of annoyance.

_Santana Lopez (3:21pm): You're planning something._

It wasn't a question, But Quinn rolled her eyes at the suggestion anyway. She really wasn't planning anything. Just—observing.

_Santana Lopez (3:21pm): I told you that you were obsessed with Berry._

Quinn's hand tightened almost painfully around her phone and turned around to shoot Santana a more meaningful glare. Santana's only response was a smug smirk and finished with a rather loud thought.

_'That got your attention, didn't it.'_

Quinn grinded her teeth so hard that she felt as though she cracked a tooth. She began to type furiously on the virtual keyboard of her phone.

_'I….am….not….obsessed….with—'_

"Hey, isn't that the new kid?" The sound of Puck's voice caused Quinn to look up from her phone sharply, her gaze instantly zeroing in on Rachel's driveway.

"Yeah it is! He knocked Hudson on his ass at practice yesterday." Puck looked at Finn with a smirk. Finn just scowled.

"Ugh," Kurt scoffed. "His dye job is just plain awful." Mercedes nodded her head eagerly in agreement.

Quinn watched with steely eyes, as the boy in the driveway rose from with the hood of Rachel's car and mopped his face with a greasy handkerchief. His features confirmed it.

Sam Evans was currently—currently in Rachel's driveway? Rachel Berry's driveway. Quinn wrinkled her brows in confusion.

"He plays football, doesn't he? He's kind of hot." Santana contributed. Though Quinn resisted the urge to blatantly point out that Santana would find him a lot more attractive if he was a she named Samantha. But she wasn't that cruel. Though she was admittedly distracted by the whirlwind of questions going through her mind at the moment.

Sam and Rachel.

Sam and Rachel?

Together.

Together?

Rachel came bouncing out of her home with a duffle bag almost larger than the girl herself, a grin on her face, reflecting Sam's contented smile.

He extended his arms. Rachel dropped her bag, and launched herself towards him.

Launched.

Rachel Berry just launched herself into the arms of Sam Evans. The SUV went silent for a beat, then the car exploded with a jumble of noise, each person speaking at the same time

"Holy shit, Jew-Berry!"

"When did this happen?"

"How could I, of all people, not know about this?"

"Get it, Rachel!"

"When did Rachel get a boyfriend?"

Santana and Quinn—the most silent of the group—just looked at each other, both having met him personally, and based on his reaction to Rachel's presence earlier that week—

The hesitation.

The stuttering.

The nervousness.

It seemed rather obvious, now that they thought about it; the nature of their relationship. But this revelation did not make it any less shocking.

'Berry and Vagina Lips?' Santana's thought sounded utterly disbelieving. Quinn felt incredibly numb as well. She watched as Sam settled his arms comfortably around Rachel's waist, seemingly having a very intimate conversation.

Something in Quinn's stomach dropped, though she ignored it. "You've got to be kidding me. This can't be what she's hiding." Quinn murmured to herself

"I don't understand!" Finn seemed to echo Quinn's sentiments. "When we broke up, she told me that she wasn't interested in—"

But Finn was silenced by a sharp, knowing glare, from Kurt. Though no one seemed to notice. Except Quinn, who caught the tail end of Kurt's annoyed thoughts. '…is an idiot. Didn't Rachel tell Finn to keep his mouth shut?'

Finn needs to keep his mouth shut about what?

"I think they're going on a weekend trip." Tina hummed. Mercedes and Kurt had their cell phones out and pointed out the window in an instant. Quinn watched as Sam chivalrously hefted Rachel's duffle bag into her trunk with a smile.

She felt—Quinn began to clench and unclench her fists. But her thoughts halted when she noticed that Rachel climbed into her car—alone—and sped out of driveway and disappeared down the block.

"Well that gets rid of my eloping theory." Kurt huffed disappointedly. "He was just there to see her off."

"Why the hell is he just standing there with that goofy smile on his face?" Santana was scowling. They all heard it in her voice. But then again, that was normal, so everyone ignored it.

"Why the hell are we just sitting here?" Puck began to fidget in his seat like a restless toddler. "He's standing right there. Let's just take him!" Mercedes nodded her head and quickly shifted the vehicle into drive.

Quinn whipped her head around to face Puck with a barely concealed grin. She could kiss him right now. But not really. Because—of reasons. She wasn't walking down that road again. She watched Sam's features become clearer the closer the car got to him.

An interrogation was definitely in order.

* * *

><p><em>'Is he almost done?'<em>

Sam caught Rachel's thought the moment he shut the hood of her car. She was walking briskly down the walkway, with a large duffle bag thrown over her shoulder (nearly the same size—if not bigger— than the girl herself, Sam thought bemusedly), and her cell phone clutched tightly in her hand.

"All done." He winked in her direction.

As Rachel neared the vehicle, she dropped her duffle bag, then proceeded to attack Sam with a bone-crushing hug. Not that he minded too much.

"Thank you so much!" She squealed into his neck, her arms still clinging tightly to his shoulders. "It means a lot to my dads, you know. That you're helping to take care of me while they are away."

He wrapped his arms securely around her waist, and his nose buried into her hair. "It's the least I could do." His words were muffled. "You guys have done so much for me."

Rachel pulled away, but her hands still rested comfortably on his shoulders. "Nonsense, Sam. Anyone would have—"

"No," He gripped her torso. "They wouldn't have. I—my family—owes you guys big time."

Rachel didn't respond to that statement, but shook her head and smiled a bright smile. Although she didn't see Sam as being in debt to her, there was nothing she could say to change his mind. He was an incredibly sweet guy, and a wonderful friend.

Except when he shunned her at school. But that is neither here nor there.

He squinted down at her after a moment of silence. Rachel briefly wondered if he heard that thought. "So, why are you going to Columbus again?"

Rachel abruptly pulled away at this question and reached down to fumble with her duffle bag straps. "Just a—" She cleared her throat distractedly as she began to drag it closer to the car. "I—we—as in my fathers and I—we wanted to do some shopping and—"

She trailed off as she attempted to heave the bag into the now open trunk. Sam was by her side instantly, quickly lifting and tucking the bag into the car's confines. "I get it. Family time."

_'Oh, thank goodness.'_ Rachel's thought slipped. Sam caught it but didn't say a word. He wasn't quite sure if she was relieved that he had helped her with her bag or that she no longer had to explain her impromptu trip out of town. It wasn't his business, anyway.

"Anyway," Rachel slammed the trunk close with a huff. "I better head out."

Sam nodded his head and stepped into her space in order to give a parting hug. "Drive safely."

Rachel squeezed back lightly. "Of course." She stepped into her car, sent a small wave as her engine sputtered to life, and then she was gone.

As Sam was too busy watching Rachel disappear down the block, he didn't notice the squeal of tires behind him. Nor the slamming of multiple car doors. Nor the hurried footsteps. But what he did hear the bombardment of thoughts. And the loudest one brought chills to his spine. His eyes widened and he froze on the spot.

_'What the hell—'_ The thought sliced through his consciousness like a butcher's knife. He felt a talon-like grip on his shoulder, and was spun around to meet icy hazel eyes. _'—are you doing with Berry?'_

Sam audibly gulped; Quinn Fabray sounded awfully pissed off.

* * *

><p>Rachel's heart was beating rapidly in her chest the moment she arrived at the facility.<p>

The building was shiny, unmarked, metal, and large. Quite large.

Rachel sent a quick text to her parents to notify them of her safe arrival and readjusted her large duffle bag as she stared at the structure in awe. It was downtown, in the same square as the government district buildings in the vicinity. Various men and women in business suits wandered around the square, heading to their homes after a tiring day at work.

She took a deep breath and eyed the glass entrance of the building. She was finally here. The testing would begin in just a few moments and she felt strangely—

Nervous.

Perhaps excited. But still nervous. Extremely nervous. Her entire future would be decided inside of this place.

She glanced down at her watch; 5:50pm.

She had made it to her destination with just 10 minutes to spare. She was glad that she left the time that she did. Showing up tardy to such an important meeting would just be—

Rachel shuddered at the thought of Dr. Meade's face if she had shown up even a minute later than promised. She pushed her way through the entrance and stared at the building's internal structure in wonder. It was just as shiny and metal as its exterior, with modern glass staircases and escalators. A lone reception desk sat at the room's center, guarded by a rather beefy looking man sitting behind the desk. His eyes quickly met hers the moment she walked through the doors.

An inexplainable chill ran down her spine. He made David Karofsky look like a Pomeranian in comparison

She gulped and once again readjusted her bag before making her way towards the desk. The guard watched her movements the entire way.

Rachel cleared her throat. "My—my name is Rachel Berry, and I have an appointment to see Dr. Sandra L. Meade."

The guard regarded her for moment, as if testing the truth of her statement, before letting out a satisfied grunt. "Identification card?" He husked out. His voice rumbled like a bass drum, and sounded akin to a growling bear. And now that Rachel thought about it, he kind of looked like one also. She quickly dug into her wallet, and the guard's large, rather paw-like hands tugged the ID card out of her grip. He stared at the ID intently for a few moments.

Rachel fidgeted.

He gave her another once over before handing back her ID. "Third floor." He rumbled.

"Thank you," She glanced down at his name tag. "Thomas. Thank you."

He smiled, or at least tried to smile, but it turned out to look something like a slight grimace. But at least he tried. And despite his intimidating aura, she had the sudden urge to pat him on his head. Rachel squelched that desire of course. There was no way she would take that risk. Thomas looked like he could eat her for dinner. He pointed to the solid glass elevator behind him with his thumb without saying another word.

Rachel took her time with the walk to the elevator, since the butterflies in her stomach had increased tenfold. But like all things that anyone was nervous about, everything seemed to have doubled in time, and the next thing Rachel knew, she was on the 3rd floor in a small waiting area under the watchful gaze of a yet another receptionist.

"Dr. Meade will be with you in a moment Miss Berry. If you can take a seat with the other subjects..."

Rachel frowned at the woman in front of her. She didn't like that she had just referred to people as subjects. It just sounded a little too clinical for her tastes. But wait—

There were other people being tested? She whipped around to face the other side of the room that—and Rachel had no idea how she did not notice this before—extended to a conclave, where a dozen or so gazes were fixed silently on her own. Everyone looked nervous; twiddling thumbs and bouncing knees, with various amounts of luggage scattered at their feet.

Rachel felt her hands clench tightly around her bag strap. Dr. Meade did state that she was responsible for forming a team of some sort. But before she could open her mouth to question it, the receptionist fixed her with a stern gaze. "Now if you would please take a seat. She will be with you in a moment."

Rachel huffed in protest, but still did as she was told, spotting an empty seat in-between a dark haired boy with far too much hair gel and a blonde with bright blue eyes.

* * *

><p>Brittany S. Pierce knew that she was special.<p>

And she wasn't just saying that because she was full of herself. Except, she kind of was. She was hot.

Smoking hot. And she was going to be famous one day. Totally famous.

Brittany also knew that according to normal people, she wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier. And to be honest—she didn't really have to be. Yet no one could argue that her intuitive nature was her biggest strength. She knew that she was intelligent in her own right.

She was unique.

She was special. Though many of her peers would use that word in a not-so-nice way, she knew that one day that it wouldn't matter.

Because one day she knew she would stand apart from the rest.

Brittany wasn't a 'super', though her little sister once convinced her that she could fly and pushed her off of the top of their staircase. She didn't end up flying, but she did end up landing daintily on the balls of her feet. Her cat, Lord Tubbington, only gave her 4.5 out of 10 on the landing, but Brittany was sure he was just upset that she threw away all of his cigars the night before.

'Catlike,' her parents called her. And awfully light on her toes. Brittany was a natural dancer. She was tested for Manifestation Potential almost immediately after the incident. But it read negative. Literally. The lowest a person can get scored is a zero. Brittany was scored at a negative one. She had never been good at tests, even though she was homeschooled for most of her life. Brittany peered around the waiting room. After some questioning when she first arrived to the building, she found out that everyone else in attendance had negative Man Pot scores as well.

It made her feel a little better about her test-taking skills.

But Brittany still knew that she was special, and was confirmed of that fact the moment Dr. Sandra L. Meade suddenly appeared on her doorstep mid-workout. It was a lengthy introduction; one that Brittany probably wouldn't remember come the morning. The woman's eyes were a deep green, and something about her gave Brittany the chills, but at the same time something deep down inside of her—something that felt like instinct—told Brittany to trust her.

"_I have an offer for you Ms. Pierce."_ Was what the woman stated matter-of-factly as Brittany stretched her arms over her head when both she and Dr. Meade finally settled in the living room; Brittany standing, Dr Meade sitting stiffly in the armchair.

Brittany shrugged. _"Sure, okay. Let's hear it."_ She said as she sunk into a split. She already began to feel her muscles lock without a proper wind-down from her exercises.

Dr. Meade cleared her throat. She seemed a bit uncomfortable. _"Much of this information must be discussed with discretion."_

Brittany nodded her head immediately._"You want it to be a secret right?"_ She waited for Dr. Meade's nod of confirmation as she shifted from a split to a lotus position on the floor.

_"I understand."_ Brittany was monotone. But then her tone brightened. _"So, you're from the National...something...of Justice—"_

_"National Security Division of the United States Department of—"_

_"Yeah, that."_ It was out of pure laziness that Brittany did not want to repeat it. And she didn't fail to notice the woman's eyes narrow at her interruption. _"Did I do something wrong? I swear I'm not a terrorist or anything. You can ask my mom."_

Dr. Meade chuckled lightly, though Brittany couldn't help but to feel that it seemed out of character for the woman to laugh at all. _"I can assure you that this is not the reason why I am here. I am...putting together a team. And you were elected for candidacy."_

Brittany blinked once, twice, then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially to Dr. Meade. _"Are you—Are you trying to make me president?"_

Dr. Meade blinked as her eyebrows raised to hairline. _"No."_ She answered slowly.

_"Oh thank goodness. I've seen TV shows about this and it does _not _end well for the main character."_

Dr. Meade peered at her for a long moment. _"Are your parent's home, Ms. Pierce?"_

Brittany nodded as she stood from the floor. _"Dr. Meade? Before I get them I just wanted to let you know—"_ She took a deep breath as Dr. Meade looked up at her expectantly. _"—you kind of give me the creeps."_ She remembered Dr. Meade frowning at her frank way of speaking. _"But not really in a bad way. The back of my neck tingles whenever you speak, but at the same time, something inside is telling me to trust you. You're a vault."_

_"Excuse me?"_

_"A vault, like at a bank; intimidating but secure."_ Brittany sighed. _"I guess I'm not making much sense."_

Dr. Meade was silent for a moment, then answered carefully in voice that seemed to betray her wonderment_, "It...actually makes more sense than you realize, Ms Pierce. In due time."_

Brittany nodded, then jumped over the couch and darted up the stairs with agility she always remembered having. She barely heard Dr. Meade's hum of approval and something murmured about a window closing sooner than expected before she was tugging her parents down the staircase.

Brittany's parents greeted Dr. Meade with questioning gazes after introductions were made, but the woman proceeded for the next hour or so, discussing the details of The Program. Brittany admittedly zoned out for quite a bit of it. But she did catch a few parts of the conversation; _"rigorous physical and mental training"_, _"stipends"_, and _"college recommendations"_ floated into her conscious. And before she knew it, her parents were holding pamphlets and shaking Dr. Meade's hands vigorously. Apparently, they were given a seventy-two hour window to make a sound decision for getting further testing.

"_If you're accepted into The Program, your training will push you to your absolute limits. Is this something that you would be interested in, Ms. Pierce?"_

_"Absolutely."_

_"You'll be hearing from us," _Her mother added. And Brittany knew why her parent's seemed so eager; her future was often a major concern to them. If joining this program would ensure security for their daughter—

_"Excellent."_

Brittany knew that they would have no qualms about it.

So here she was in this nondescript building, waiting for testing to see if she would be qualified for this team that Dr. Meade was speaking of. The other—similarly aged, Brittany noticed—candidates seemed too terrified to break the stifling silence in the waiting room. Their feet were bouncing on the tile, and their hands clenched anxiously at the material of their clothing.

All Brittany could feel was a sense of excitement coursing through her veins.

They all jumped in surprise when they heard the entrance to the waiting area click open. A short brunette girl wearing an argyle sweater vest, plaid skirt, and holding an air of self-importance which—Brittany thought—was actually quite endearing due to the fact that her knees were noticeably buckling under the weight of her duffle bag.

Brittany tilted her head. The girl also looked familiar.

She listened as the receptionist curtly dismissed Rachel towards the waiting area, and watched her jaw tighten when she noticed the other candidates in the room. When the girl finally settled into her seat—the only vacant one that just happened to be right next to Brittany—and adapted herself to the nerve-wrecked atmosphere, Brittany took a deep breath through her nose, and was hit with the realization of just how she remembered her.

Brittany remembered the smell of crayons. The smell of glue. The smell of construction paper. She remembered wooden desks and black chalkboards. She remembered gold stars and a brown-haired girl, humming her favorite tunes as she colored dutifully at her desk. She remembered the smell of her shampoo; vanilla and brown sugar, with a hint of mint. It hadn't changed one bit.

"Hi." Brittany watched as the girl started in her seat, but paid it no mind. "I'm Brittany." She proffered her hand.

"Hello..." The girl murmured, unsure how to react to the blatant greeting, but took Brittany's hand anyway. "My name is Rachel."

Brittany nodded sagely. "I remember you."

"Really?" Rachel's eyebrows pinched. "I don't remember you at all."

Brittany would have thought Rachel's response was rude if she didn't have the urge to pick up Rachel and put her in her pocket. She didn't think Rachel would take too well to that, but she somehow knew that Rachel had a good heart; she could feel it in her gut. And she spoke her mind. Brittany liked that about her already. "We were in kindergarten together."

Rachel's face scrunched, trying to remember something that she couldn't quite recall. "I—I'm sorry. I truly don't remember. You wouldn't happen to attend McKinley, would you?"

Brittany shook her head in the negative. "Home-schooled." She pointed towards herself. "And it's alright. Most people wouldn't remember stuff all the way from kindergarten. Besides, we have plenty of time to get to know each other again."

Rachel grinned guardedly, barely showing off pearly white teeth. "I suppose that's true." She paused for a beat. "There _is _a saying that you always meet people of importance twice in your life."

Brittany hummed. "Then that means we should totally be friends. Ugly sweater and all."

"I happen to think my sweater looks just—"

"I mean, we're both important. We're both here because we're special, right?"

Rachel seemed to pause at the word. "I—yes." She peered at Brittany with an unreadable expression. "We are special." Brittany winked at Rachel just as Dr. Meade made her appearance within the waiting area. She briefly wondered if Rachel felt the hairs at the back of her neck raise at the woman's presence too.

As they all stood from their seats and began to file into the testing center at Dr. Meade's request, Brittany bent down to whisper into Rachel's ear, "We should definitely stick together."

Rachel nodded wordlessly, most likely too nervous to properly continue the conversation.

"It would make the most sense wouldn't it? We _are_ the important ones here." Brittany finished just as the hallway expanded into what was going to be their home for the weekend.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Whew! I'll keep this really short.**

**So, I have no excuse whatsoever for such a long hiatus. It began because life started kicking me pretty damn hard. When it wasn't...pure laziness took over. I certainly apologize for that! And to answer many similarly phrased questions, ****_I am not abandoning The Offbeats. I promise._**

**Anyway, you guys-the readers, the followers, the reviewers-are beyond amazing! All I can say is thank you, thank you, ****_thank you_**** for your patience. And I hope to make it up to you :)**

**Until next time,**

**Orange**


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